


Take Me Back To Never

by write4good



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But don't worry-time travel to fix it!, Character Death, Destruction and Desolation, F/F, Fifth Worldkiller, It's sad-not gonna lie, Lena is a Worldkiller, Minor Character Death, Worldkiller, accidentally of course, but it ends well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 20:22:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 58,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write4good/pseuds/write4good
Summary: Kara's eyes welled with relieved tears to see her standing there--to see her alive and well and so, so beautiful as if none of those horrible things had ever happened.  As if she'd never hurt her.  Never lied.Lena seemed to sense that she was no longer alone in her office and she turned away from her window, her eyebrow lifting in genuine surprise."Was there something else, Miss Danvers?"  Lena asked in a professional tone while she amended her stance to be closed off and suspicious.Kara couldn't help but laugh--it was a reflex.This was the moment, and she wasn't going to mess if up a second time.Kara forced her face into an amiable expression and tried to soften her gaze as she approached Lena with her hand outstretched--offering everything.  Everything that had never happened, and everything that could be."Actually, there is."  Kara took a deep breath, pushing down her giddy nerves, and plastered on her biggest grin, "I wanted to tell you that beneath all this, I'm Supergirl.  And I wanted to welcome you to National City."---What if Kara could go back to a time where she had never lied to Lena?





	1. Chapter 1

Kara wasn’t in the DEO when it happened.

She was across town, trying to diffuse a brawl at the Alien Bar of all things, but even there she felt it—a tremor so powerful it would have knocked Brian right off his feet had Kara not already had his shirt collar fisted in her right hand.

“Whoa!”  Brian was unsteady and clamped both hands over Kara’s arm as if to reassure himself he wasn’t going to fall.  “What was that?” 

“I’m not sure.”  Kara murmured as she released both Brian and the Lobo twice his size that he had been taunting.  Her phone was already ringing. 

“Kara—the blast came from L-Corp.” Alex’s voice was strained.

Normally, Kara’s first wave of feeling would have been panic at such news.  But strangely, before the panic came a terrible ache—a bitterness that always made Kara’s limbs feel heavy whenever she had to face Lena recently.  Ever since the Kryptonite fiasco—things had been different.  Strained.  Going to see Lena, even as Kara, had become—Kara hated herself for thinking it—a _burden_.  She never knew what to expect, and she had to be guarded every moment. 

And Kara hated it.

“What’s she done now?”  Kara asked wearily as she turned on her heel to leave the bar—she was satisfied to see that the patrons, even the ones who had been fighting mere minutes before, were helping each other back to their feet as they looked around in confusion.  No one would be throwing any more punches.

“I—I don’t know.”  Alex admitted.  “We’ll meet you there.”

Kara nodded in acceptance, resigning herself to the fact that she was once again going to have to have a talk with Lena about safety and open communication—a lecture that Lena Luthor would no doubt scoff at with a signature eyebrow raise as if to say, ‘ _You_ of all people should know better than to try to tell me what I can and cannot do.’ 

And she’d have a point. 

No matter how hard Kara tried, she knew her relationship, both her professional one and her friendship with Lena, was crumbling.  Because somehow it was becoming harder and harder to untangle the two—not externally, but _inside_.  Lena’s cold professional attitude—the clipped conversations and defensiveness bordering on hostility toward Supergirl hurt Kara on a deep level.  And she couldn’t bring herself to smile as wide anymore when she did get to spend time with her friend without the cape.  She caught herself tensing more often around Lena—waiting for something horrible to happen…something she couldn’t bear to think of.

Kara shook her shoulders as she stepped out into the sunlight.  She could hear sirens in the distance.  Not only police—but fire engines as well.  Kara frowned as she lifted quickly into the air, her heart clenching in a pre-emptive attempt to prepare for the worst. 

She couldn’t have known it at the time—that the horrible thing had already happened. 

The unimaginable. 

Later, Kara wouldn’t even remember what day of the week it had been; she would only be able to classify it as the day her world began to end. 

And Kara had been there when Krypton ended.  She knew how painful—how _inescapable_ it could be. 

But even so—no one ever thinks to see an end twice. 

That is why it was unthinkable.  Impossible. 

Kara had already lost so much—she had thought she had become stronger for it.  Had learned to bear it. 

 

She was wrong.  


	2. Chapter 2

It was worse than Kara had realized. 

The air over Cordova Avenue was tainted with smoke and fear. 

From above, Kara could see that for several hundred kilometers in all directions, buildings and sidewalks and people had sustained damage.  There were deep fissures in the earth, radiating out from L-Corp tower.  And police and rescue personnel appeared like ants, scrambling over rubble and debris to tend to the hundreds of people who had scrapes and bruises from falls or collisions.      

Kara could feel the panic twisting in her stomach, and she dropped from the sky without bothering to brace for impact at the front entrance.  The sidewalk cracked beneath her boots, but Kara hardly noticed.  She hardly even heard the DEO vans pulling up a few yards behind her, swerving to avoid buckled cement and the triage station the NCPD had hastily erected. 

The only thing that was tangible for Kara at the moment was her own blood rushing in her ears. 

As she’d gotten closer to L-Corp, Kara had heard all manner of cries and sirens.  A full-blown disaster had been unfolding in a glorious cacophony beneath her—she would only think to call it _glorious_ because even though she heard a lot of weeping and shouting, it was far better than what she heard coming from a smoking L-Corp, the center of the blast. 

There was nothing. 

No running feet. 

No screams for help. 

No groans of pain. 

Not even the hum of electricity. 

“Okay, I want a floor by floor sweep.  Davis, Wilson—you’ve got 7 and up.  Wright, Sanchez—I want your teams to cover 6 to the lobby.  Jensen, I need you and whoever we’ve got left to set up a perimeter—keep _everyone_ back until we know what’s going on.  Supergirl and I will take the lab.  Move.”  Alex’s orders were clear and precise.  She seemed to have internalized whatever fear she might be feeling.  She had always been good at that.  But now, as the Director of the DEO, she was better than _good_.  She had to be. 

Kara stood frozen in the entryway.  The tower was—simply a skeleton.  Kara could see its metal bones, twisted and warped from the heat. 

The DEO agents trudged inside, splitting into their teams without comment.  Their boots finally made some racket. 

 “Vasquez—what do you have for me?”  Alex was checking in with her number two over the comm link as she unholstered her weapon. 

The agents inside were communicating with each other as well, their shouts echoing.  Someone had grabbed a fire-extinguisher from the wall and set to work putting out all the little flames scattered across the lobby. 

But to Kara it all sounded hollow.  She had noticed it as she came hurtling from the sky—the heat signatures inside weren’t bright like flowing blood.  They were dull like mud.  No one was moving. 

“Alex.”  Kara half-choked. 

“I know.”  Alex snapped as she jerked her chin to flip her lopsided hair away from her eyes.  “Come on.”

Kara followed Alex wordlessly through the shattered glass doors.  The panic wasn’t just twisting in her stomach anymore—it had knotted itself up tight and lodged itself in her throat.  As Kara swiveled her head one way, and then another—she couldn’t breathe.

“Seven dead in here, Director.”  An agent called from somewhere nearby. 

Alex nodded her head curtly. 

“Let Jensen know.”  Alex instructed. 

Somewhere up above, on the mezzanine, one of the rookies was gagging.  Alex couldn’t blame them.  Outside, there had been smoke in the air, a sense of urgency and the sweaty certainty of ‘I’m hurt, but alive’.  In here, everything was still.  And it smelled like blood. 

Alex swallowed and slipped her gun into her thigh holster as she approached the elevator.  Inside there was a secret panel that Alex knew would slide away to reveal a special keypad.  It required special clearance.  Clearance that Lena had grudgingly and with much protest given the DEO when they had been working together to save Sam and been sharing assets.  As Director of the DEO, Alex still carried one of the few special keycards.

But the elevator wasn’t working.

Not that they needed it. 

Alex had been white-knuckling all this time, bracing for impact—waiting for it all to explode in her face.  But suddenly, through all the gritty pain that was eating her up at the moment, Alex felt a stab of longing for J’onn.  He would know what to do--what to say to prepare her for the worst.

Alex and Kara had come to the edge of a precipice--a terrible, gaping hole right in the middle of the floor.  It was dark and smoking. 

Alex could tell without leaning over to check that it was several stories deep.  That it led to the labs beneath the building.   

Alex swallowed and glanced at her sister, doing her best to keep her own face neutral—she’d never seen Kara look so _scared_.  No, not just scared, Kara looked _petrified_. 

Alex cleared her throat, unknowingly setting her jaw. 

“Kara—we need to get down there.” 

Kara jolted slightly.  The cold of panic had started to turn hot in her veins.  She felt _feverish_ —none of this was right.  This couldn’t be happening. 

“O-okay.”  Kara stammered around the dryness that burned in her throat.  “Okay.” 

Kara took a deep breath and let it out before she tugged Alex against her and prepared for the plunge.  She closed her eyes--she couldn't bear to look as she jumped.  She heard Alex take a sharp breath, but Kara wasn't scared.

Not for herself.

 

She prayed to Rao that Lena was alright.


	3. Chapter 3

Kara touched down gently.  So gently, her boots didn't even make a sound. 

She opened her eyes after taking a careful breath, and it took all of her willpower not to drop to her knees on the spot.  It wasn't exhaustion--she couldn't feel any strain whatsoever—it was something else.  The sob she knew had been building ever since she’d pulled up short in the sky over a smoking, barely standing L-Corp finally broke free. 

Alex was at Kara’s side in an instant, her gun raised as she took quick stock of the room.  It was a grim sight—there were several dead.  All in lab coats.  Some of the bodies were smoking, and there was an overwhelming _singed_ smell.  Scorch marks on the walls.  But it looked as if most of the casualties had occurred in the blast after colliding with the wall, breaking God-knows how many bones—but there were others, at least three, clustered near the elevator dock, not the wall.  Their necks were at odd angles.  And there were drag marks on the floor—bloodied. 

Not to mention the strange black dust coating everything.  It sparkled in the light seeping in from the gaping hole in the ceiling. 

Alex could hear Kara’s breathing turn short and fast, and could feel her start to shake beside her—but she resisted the impulse to hug her close and just cry about how awful this was.  That could come later. 

Alex trotted over to the nearest body and knelt to check for a pulse, just to be sure.    

“What—Alex, how—”  Kara’s voice was completely broken.  There were tears in her eyes and an anger was slowly starting to gnaw at her from the inside. 

“I don’t know!”  Alex snapped.  She swiped her palm along her pant leg to clear it of blood before scooting over to check the next body.  She wasn’t even sure why she bothered.  Even with her limited medical experience in human prognosis—Alex knew they were all dead. 

Kara lifted her fists to the sides of her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus.  She could feel herself spiraling out of control, anger, panic, bitterness, alarm—it was all there.  And it was almost too much. 

She had to focus. 

She had to _listen_.

There was a scuffling somewhere beyond the wreck of the room before them and both Kara and Alex lifted their heads. 

Alex moved first.  Her boots left footprints in the large deposits of dust all over the floor.  She darted around a stationary Kara and ran through the wreckage of Reign’s old cell.  She leaped over mangled lab tables and broken petri dishes to get to the vault.  Alex threw her weight against the door that was scored with blast marks—dark and smoky. 

“Kara!”  Alex grunted without turning.  “Kara, help me!” 

Kara’s feet moved, but she couldn’t use super-speed.  Kara didn’t know why.  Maybe it wasn’t that she couldn’t, but rather that she _didn’t_. 

Or couldn’t bring herself to.  Not in Lena’s lab. 

Her breathing was still coming short and she felt like she was suffocating—how many arguments had she had with Lena down here? 

How many silences had cut into her very soul? 

This was the worst of them yet.

Kara somehow made it to Alex and gripped the handles of the vault-door.  She could definitely hear signs of life on the other side—a scraping sound and muffled sobbing. 

Kara took a sharp breath and wrenched the door from its hinges, her heart lifting and falling in the same instant. 

It wasn’t Lena. 

The disappointment Kara felt also washed her in shame because once again she half-froze and it was Alex who darted forward, ever the tactical commander. 

“Eve!  Oh my God, Eve, are you alright?!”  Alex dropped to her knees with too much forward momentum and slid several feet right into Eve’s side.  The poor woman was bound and gagged.  Her green eyes were wide and filled with tears.  Her clothes were rumpled and covered in that same black dust.  Flecks of it sparkled in her hair. 

“A-Alex?  Supergirl?  I—thank goodness you’re—”  Eve could hardly string more than three words together after Alex pulled the gag from her mouth.  Alex didn’t mind.  She gently eased the woman’s head down onto her shoulder and set to work cutting through the twine around her wrists and ankles while Eve sobbed into her bullet-proof vest. 

“They’re all—all of them—I can’t—Oh God it was awful.”  Eve hiccupped and sputtered, and Alex whispered soothing words as she sawed at the restraints with her dagger. 

Kara dropped the door to the ground, needing to feel the crashing reverberations to remind herself that this was really happening. 

Eve let out a cry of alarm and ducked more fully into Alex’s strength, clearly traumatized. 

Alex turned in agitation, glaring at her sister. 

“Where is she?”  Kara asked with a slight tremor.  Her voice was both lifeless—without breath or any heat—and yet somehow insistent.  She had to know. 

Eve immediately started sobbing harder and Alex instinctively wrapped her arms around her. 

“Supergirl, now isn’t the time.”  Alex hissed through gritted teeth. 

Alex could feel her own inner turmoil starting to take effect.  She too had noticed almost immediately that Lena Luthor was nowhere to be seen.  There had been a moment—a terrifying moment—when Alex had thought one of the dark-haired bodies strewn across the floor might be her, but when she’d taken a closer look, it had been someone completely unknown, which only made this tragedy all the more maddening.  Alex was both relieved and overwhelmingly sad.  She hoped she would get to _numb_ soon, everything was just too sharp.  Too cutting. 

“Oh God—they took her!  They took her!”  Eve screamed into Alex’s chest. 

“Who took her?”  Kara asked, her breath hitching even if she couldn’t bring herself to step any closer—she was afraid she would start shaking Eve if she did.

Eve only shook her head and sobbed, unable to say anymore. 

“Director?  Are you alright?”  An agent called down through the gaping wound in the floor, his voice tinny and weak. 

Alex got to her feet gently, pulling Eve up with her. 

“We’re alright—Morowski, get some ladders down here, and tell Adams to send for a bus, we’ve got a survivor!”  Alex called as she helped Eve limp through the vault out into the lab, clearly her ankles were giving her some grief. 

As soon as they cleared the doorway, Eve saw the bodies of her colleagues and let out a piercing shriek, almost immediately becoming dead weight as she started to fall to the floor.  Alex did her best to shield her. 

“Don’t look—don’t look.  You’re alright.  You’re safe now.”  Alex soothed. 

She glared over Eve’s curls at Kara—she didn’t want to be mad at her sister.  Everyone reacts to grief and trauma in different ways.  And Alex was worried for Lena.  Not only that, she was _fucking_ scared.  But this was perhaps the third time Kara had frozen up.  And Alex needed help getting Eve away from this mess, couldn’t Kara see that?  And Eve was the priority.  They’d been too late for everyone else.  There was nothing they could do for them right now.  Eve had to be the focus.  She was the only one who could help them figure out what to do next.  

Kara could feel Alex’s glare and her tumultuous anger. 

She wordlessly unhooked her cape and handed it over, her fingers tingling with worthless adrenaline.  Alex snatched it from Kara without a second look and draped the cape around Eve’s shoulders, tucking her into her side as she called up further orders to her agents who had swarmed with ladders and what appeared to be several doctors with flashlights and stethoscopes and all around grim expressions. 

Kara stood in the middle of the lab—where the blast had originated.  She spun in a slow circle, completely blocking out everything that was happening over in the corner.  She blinked several times as she spun, a deep sadness gripping her insides like a vice as she stared at the speckled walls. 

She knew what it was now. 

Her fists shook.  But she had nowhere to put her anger.

She should have known.  That was what kept punching her right in the gut, refusing to let her get a good breath.  It was that _she should have known_. 

Lena had turned over all of her kryptonite when Kara had pushed, but what did that matter if her stupid genius of a best friend could _make_ it?

 _She should have known_ that Lena would’ve been tempted to do the same with the Harun-el.   

But at what cost?!

Kara bowed her head, her fists shaking as she fought another wave of desperate sadness.  Of despondent fury.

If Kara had known—she would have stopped this.  If Lena had just—come to her.  Trusted her.  Stopped with the secrets and given Kara a little warning, maybe things would be different.

_Look at what you’ve done, Lena.  How can we possibly fix this?_


	4. Chapter 4

Kara was angry with Lena. 

It came as a shock at first, but once she accepted that simple fact—she realized the anger had been there for some time, festering. 

And now it had spread.  She could no longer ignore it. 

Lena was missing, and probably in danger, but Kara couldn’t push the anger away.  It was a part of her now.  And it wouldn’t be silent anymore.  It was _screaming_ in her ear, _boiling_ in her blood— _tearing_ at her heart. 

Half of downtown had been blown up because Lena couldn’t turn off her scientific drive to just _see where this goes_ , for five stupid minutes!

Kara swore when she found Lena she was going to lock her up in a cushioned room just so she would know the woman was safe and couldn’t hurt anyone else—

Kara froze at that thought, flushing and biting her lip hard as she confronted her reflection in one of the DEO windows.  She didn’t blame this on Lena.  She _couldn’t_ do that.  Not now, not ever.  Not when they knew absolutely nothing about what had happened.

Deep down, Kara still believed that Lena would never hurt anyone.

It had been an accident, of that Kara was certain.  At least…that’s what she told herself over and over again as she paced outside the med-bay. 

 “Alright—got it.  Will do.”  Agent Vasquez’s voice floated down the hallway, drawing Kara’s attention.  She nodded to herself, pushing away that nagging _uncertainty_ as she hardened her expression and braced for more bad news. 

“It’s bad.”  Susan said as she approached Supergirl cautiously.  She slipped her cell phone into her pocket and crossed her arms over her chest, forcing out a relieved but defeated breath. 

Kara swallowed and nodded, now accustomed to the sting of tears behind her eyes.  She didn’t even try to hide them from Vasquez.    

“How many?”  Kara asked, pushing down the desire in her blood to _fly away_ before she could get an answer.  She wouldn’t be any help to Lena if she didn’t have all the facts—that’s what Lena would want first when Kara found her.  To hear the facts.  Lena took comfort in numbers and statistics.  For Lena, they were solid things.  Certain. 

Kara would need to know the facts for when she found Lena.

Because she _would_ find her.   

“57 dead in L-Corp.  At least 200 wounded so far, and at least one dead at the hospital.  A few in critical care from the plaza outside the Tower, but for the most part quick response kept things from getting critical.” 

Kara wanted to be happy to hear that last part.  But she couldn’t even bring herself to nod.  She was numb.  She knew, deep down, that it was because National City had been in crisis so many times before that their first responders had known what to do before even the news outlets had thought to issue emergency warnings.  It was simply a by-product of their current climate. 

And Kara didn’t know how to feel about that. 

“The blast knocked out one of the city’s main power stations, so there are a lot of people without power, but what’s even more worrying is the superficial damage.  Water pipes have burst and there’s flooding in several residential areas.  Alex thinks we might have to call in the National Guard.”  Vasquez explained dryly. 

Kara took a shuddering breath and finally lifted her eyes from the floor. 

“Still no word on Lena Luthor.”  Vasquez cut in before Kara could ask. 

Kara flinched slightly and shook her head. 

“I—I was going to ask about Jess…Lena’s secretary.  Do you know if—”

“She was on the thirteenth floor.”  Vasquez said softly. 

Kara’s nostrils flared and she turned away to try to make her peace with this new information.  Jess had always been kind to Kara.  And she’d taken care of Lena, not just her schedule, but her personal health too in a way.  She’d make sure that Lena ate when Kara or James were lax in their checking up.  And more than once, Kara knew Jess had practically forced Lena out of the office when the young Luthor tried to work too late.  

“I…”  Kara swallowed.  “I should be out there.” 

Kara didn’t really have to elaborate.  The monitors just around the corner were full of news coverage from the blast sight.  Ambulances and fire engines were blaring.  Children were crying and injured people were groaning.  Choppers were filling up the air-space to get better shots of the enormous danger zone. 

But even beneath the grumbling from the monitors and the understandable path to recovery ahead for the city—there was something even more pressing.  An absence that Kara was aware of every moment that passed. 

L-Corp had fallen. 

And Lena was missing.  She was _out there_ somewhere.

“Alex says no.”  Vasquez said, reaching out tentatively to put a hand on Kara’s shoulder. It was a little different seeing the Girl of Steel without her cape—seeing her in the suit, but with drooping shoulders and haunted eyes.  She looked beaten, even though this time there had been no viable enemy for Kara to fight. 

At least not yet. 

“She says you’re better off here, getting through to Eve.”

“But I—”  Kara started to protest, which was odd.  She usually wouldn’t protest about something like this.  _Of course_ it was more important for her to stay with the victim, offer Eve some comfort after such a traumatic experience, reassure her she was safe…she was also the only one who could help Kara understand what had happened.  And give her clues to find Lena. 

Eve was all there was.   

“We have resources deployed all over the city doing what they can—this is something only you can do.”  Vasquez said more gently. 

Kara closed her eyes, allowing several tears to fall. 

She didn’t want to be the only one.  Why did she _always_ have to be the only one?!

“Agent, Supergirl…you can see her now.”  One of the agents toting a medical degree beneath all their special ops training called from the med-bay. 

“You can do this.”  Vasquez encouraged Kara, trying to force a smile. 

Kara wasn’t so sure.  She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. 

“Someone should call James.  He’s on assignment in LA.  I guess we can’t reassure him or anything yet, but someone should call him all the same.”  Kara mumbled as she crossed in front of Vasquez. 

“Oh—alright.  I’ll have someone look into that.”  Vasquez muttered with a frown as she fell into step a few feet behind Kara. 

Kara wanted to scream.  She wanted to tear off her boots and throw them one at a time at Vasquez and demand why a phone call was suddenly an inconvenience. 

People were dead. Their families wrenched to pieces. 

No one knew what was going on, but the least they could do was give someone on the outside a phone call, couldn’t they? 

Kara knew there was an order to things in the aftermath of a crisis.  And after an event like this—people would be scared.  More specifically, people connected to L-Corp would be scared.  They would be looking for someone to step up.  To give answers.  To lead.  And Kara couldn’t slow down to be that person right now.  And Lena—well, Lena was missing.  That left James.  He was always solid in times of crisis.  And ever since Winn and J’onn and Mon-el had left, they were running low on allies.  They needed him. 

 

But Kara didn’t scream. 

That would come later.  When she had a _real_ reason. 

She would scream her heart out and leave her lungs raw and burning.

For now, she simply nodded and let the doctor take her in to see Eve.


	5. Chapter 5

Eve was sitting on the edge of the hospital cot still wearing a look of complete and utter shock on her face.  She looked small and vulnerable in the hospital gown, with her curls hanging limply down around her shoulders.  She had Kara’s cape wadded up in her lap and kept running her fingers over the material as if she had to remind herself that it was there—that she was safe. 

“Eve…I’ve brought Supergirl and one of our top Agents to see you.”  The doctor called in a soothing tone as she approached with Ms. Tessmacher’s guests.  It was the tone one would use to address a child.  Non-threatening, but authoritative. 

Eve lifted her eyes and tried to straighten, tossing her curls back over her shoulders. 

“Yes, good, I—I want to help.” 

Vasquez nodded sagely and crossed her wrists patiently in front of her. 

“How are you feeling?”  Vasquez asked. 

“Ummm…cold.”  Eve admitted, shifting a little uncomfortably. 

“I can fix that.”  The doctor said before bowing out to adjust the room temperature. 

“Eve…can you tell me what you—all of you—were doing with the Harun-el in the lab?”  Kara asked tightly. 

Vasquez glanced once at Kara but didn’t bother asking where this had come from.  She had been advised already to let Kara lead the interview. 

“Oh—I—”  Eve’s resolve seemed to shatter and tears filled her eyes again.  She took a quick, sharp breath and hugged Kara’s cape close to her chest.  “I’m sorry, I—It’s just so hard.” 

“Take your time.”  Vasquez somehow managed to sound more soothing than Kara even with her gruff voice. 

“Right.  Okay…it’s just—Ms. Luthor said it was safe.”  Eve stammered, staring down in defeat at the floor. 

Kara stiffened immediately and her expression became hard even though inside she was breaking to pieces. 

“She said it could—open doors we’d never even dreamed of.  Clean energy.  Like, _real_ clean energy.”  Eve emphasized, gathering the courage to look up. “We’ve been at it for months—it’s why her relationship with James fell apart, because we were spending so much time in the lab.  Just her and I at first, then we brought on a few more…trusted friends.” 

Kara was blinking rapidly, fighting a new scream that had welled up in her throat—this one inhuman.  Full of indignation and shapeless rage.  This was all news to Kara—she’d had no idea that Lena and James weren’t seeing each other anymore, though she had thought it odd that James would take an assignment out of the blue, especially after he’d gotten so comfortable behind Cat’s desk.  But it wasn’t just that.  It was the added jab at the end— _trusted friends_.  Something Supergirl certainly was not.

“And is that what caused the explosion?  This…Harun-el?”  Vasquez asked Eve even though her eyes darted to Kara. 

Eve took another sharp breath, trying to keep back more tears. 

“Yes—and no.  I—I’m not entirely sure.”  Eve broke down and cried into her hands.  Kara’s cape slipped to the floor.  “I’m sorry—I know I’m not helping.  I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”  Vasquez said gruffly, stepping forward to put a hand on Eve’s shoulder.  It was more to offer stability than comfort—the wispy woman looked as if one more sob might send her literally over the edge of the hospital bed into the floor after the cape. 

“In the lab you said ‘they’ took Lena.”  Kara’s voice was jarring, not just to Eve and Vasquez, but to Kara’s own ears.  It lacked sympathy, or any emotion really.  She sounded cold.  Kara swallowed and wet her lips, hoping that might help.  “Who are ‘they’?” 

Eve wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. 

“I don’t know.  They wore masks.” 

“Masks?”  Vasquez interrupted, surprised. 

Eve nodded and wet her lips. 

“And cloaks.  More like robes, I guess.  It was—weird.”  Eve paused and shook her head, groaning.  “I’m sorry, I know this whole thing was horrible, but it was, really—just _weird_.” 

Kara shifted her position, crossing her arms over her chest as she stepped forward a little. 

“Start at the beginning.”  Kara prompted. 

Eve winced a little at Kara’s unchanged tone but nodded and did her best to comply. 

“Okay, well—it started out like any other day.  I went to Catco to run errands for James before I got the call from Ms. Luthor.  I left Catco around 1—she was already in the lab when I got there, but that wasn’t unusual.  She had to come up from the lab though, to let me in, because I don’t have a badge yet—I probably won’t ever have one now.  Sorry.”  Eve caught Vasquez grimacing and she shook her shoulders slightly to get herself back on track.  “Anyway, Lena and I—we were trying to liquefy a sample of the rock.  We’d been having all kinds of trouble with it, and we’d had to send away for a special mixture from a team in Russia and we’d been getting shipments regularly all week of the new equipment to build the hydrogeneration furnace, but today was the day we were going to really test it out.” 

Eve paused, a single tear slipping down her cheek. 

“I—I don’t know what went wrong.  Ms. Luthor had followed every protocol we have.  Everyone was back behind the safety glass except for me…I was assisting.  And maybe if I’d—I don’t know what I could have done.  Maybe I could have stopped her.  I doubt it though.  We had no reason to suspect it would go so wrong.” 

“How do you mean?”  Kara asked tightly.  She didn’t want to hear. 

She had to hear. 

“It just—it didn’t do anything right.  I mean, it was like the sample split in two—part of it liquefied, but there was also this—this gas that was released, but not like a slow leak, it was like—a sudden wind.”  Eve explained, looking puzzled herself. 

“A blast?”  Vasquez suggested dryly. 

Eve’s hazel-green eyes slowly focused on the Agent. 

“No.”  She shook her head.  “That came later…this was different.  It was like—an egg or something exploding inside a microwave, only—our microwave cracked.  The glass, I mean.  The glass to the chamber cracked.” 

Kara took a sharp breath and bowed her head, her insides twisting and knotting and causing her all kinds of emotional discomfort. 

Eve heard Supergirl’s huff and she looked up quickly, her nose started to run as more tears slid from her eyes. 

“You have to understand—Ms. Luthor followed protocol.  God she was a stickler for it.  I guess I should have been more prepared, I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let her push me out.” 

“What do you mean?”  Vasquez asked, frowning. 

Eve took a deep breath and slowly flexed her hands on the sheets. 

“The integrity of the experiment had been compromised—the equipment wasn’t strong enough to sustain the heat and the safety glass had broken.  Ms. Luthor had to seal the lab before breach.  And she did…she shoved me out, but I was…I was too slow.  I was just—shocked.  We’d taken such careful notes and made solid predictions.  I hadn’t slept in three days because I’d been going over our preliminary data—I was just, floored that it hadn’t worked.”  Eve sniffled. 

“Maybe if I’d…if I’d gotten my stupid brain to accept it sooner, none of this would have happened.”  Eve’s words were watery and she bowed her head to let out a sob. 

“You were in shock, Eve.”  Kara said, closing her eyes against the pain the words brought on.  Hadn’t she said the same thing once before to Lena?  Had it helped?

“Then what happened?”  Vasquez prompted. 

Eve paused, her eyes misting as she fought a particularly painful memory.  Her fists clenched the thin sheets on the cot. 

“I was too slow—Mrs. Luthor got me out, but the door slid closed behind me and pressurized.  She was locked in there and I just—I just froze.  I’m—I’m not sure exactly what happened next, it’s all so—”  Eve closed her eyes. 

“Hazy?”  Vasquez prompted. 

Eve’s eyes shot open, her expression was solemn. 

“No.  It’s vivid.  Loud.  I just—don’t know what it means.” 

“Can you tell us what you heard?”  Kara asked around a clenched jaw.  There was an uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. 

“Do you need to take a break?  Here, have some water.”  Vasquez interrupted, stepping between Kara and Eve to take up a bottle of water sporting a straw from the bedside table. 

“Oh—thanks.”  Eve managed.  She sipped tentatively, keeping her eyes on Supergirl, not wanting to let her down. 

“There you go.”  Vasquez murmured as she pulled the bottle back and used her thumb to remove a drip of water that stood out on Eve’s chin.

“Thanks.”  Eve mumbled, brushing a curl back behind her ear.

“Don’t mention it.”  Vasquez shrugged as she crossed her arms over her chest.  She held on to the water bottle. 

“So—can you tell us what happened after you were separated from Ms. Luthor?”

Eve nodded at first, but then began to shake her head and her shoulders shook. 

“No—it was awful.  I don’t—it all happened so fast.  I heard a lot of commotion—I think—I think Ms. Luthor put up a fight, no—I _know_ she did.  But it should have been me!  She should have gone through the door and just left me!”  Eve sobbed.

“Eve, you can’t do that to yourself.”  Vasquez said firmly.  “This wasn’t your fault.” 

“Are you sure?”  Eve shot back, anger making her appear all the more helpless.  “Because it sure does feel like it.  It’s my fault that she’s—" 

“Is everything alright in here?”  The doctor asked, drawn by the sounds of distress coming from her one and only patient at the moment. 

“Yup.  Just peachy.”  Vasquez announced. 

Kara didn’t say anything.  Her pupils had dilated and she stared without breathing at Eve. 

“What are you even saying?  It’s _not_ alright.  Don’t you understand?  Nothing’s ‘ _peachy_ ’.  People I know—people I _worked with_ are _dead_.  And if I’d just—if I’d just _gotten my stupid legs to move faster_ , then Ms. Luthor wouldn’t be—”

“What?”  Kara croaked.  Her nails had been slowly biting deeper and deeper into her palms.  Her nails couldn’t break her skin, but neither would her nails buckle under the pressure.  The result was skin stretched taunt and white, tension tugging at every muscle in both hands. 

Eve looked up, tears streaking down her face and shuddered.

“Dead.  Ms. Luthor’s dead too.” 


	6. Chapter 6

“No.” 

Kara knew, on some subconscious level, that it was never a good idea to contradict a victim giving testimony, but she also could not, on _any_ level, accept what Eve had said. 

“No.  She’s not.”  Kara’s voice was powerful and Eve was buffered back slightly. 

“Supergirl.”  Vasquez reached out toward the super, but Kara shouldered through the empty sympathy and stepped toward Eve. 

“ _No_.  No, in the lab—in the lab you said they’d taken her.”  Kara dug up those words and spat them back at Eve. 

“They did.”  Eve whimpered, cowering slightly away from Supergirl’s enraged shadow.  “They did take her body—and whatever’s inside it.”

“What are you talking about?”  Vasquez demanded, turning her attention away from Supergirl and back to the woman in the hospital gown. 

Kara looked shell-shocked.  Her mouth dropped open slightly, but no sound escaped. 

“It was horrible.”  Eve cried, hugging herself tightly.  “I can’t even—it was just horrible.”

“Tell me.”  Kara forced out the words even though it felt like she was choking up her own lungs in the process. 

Eve finally glanced up and was caught by Kara’s desperate stare. 

“I—we saw everything through the partition window.  There was a second small explosion in the chamber, and this time the glass didn’t just crack, it—it shattered.  Ms. Luthor, she—she took cover behind the lab table, but some of the liquid, well—I guess it was a little more like goo—this strange, black and blue goo—it ate through the sleeve of her lab coat and we heard her scream.”

“Good God.”  The doctor muttered for effect.

Eve nodded, her lip trembling as she stared down at the red cape to her right. 

“She—the shower was on the other side of the partition.  She couldn’t get to it.  I saw her trying to tug off her lab coat, but—she started convulsing and—and all the while there was this horrible gas spewing from the busted chamber, and I—I lost sight of her, but I could hear—these horrible screams and there was—so much commotion, like tables over turning and glass breaking.  And—and this awful smell.” 

Kara turned away sharply, hugging herself. 

“For how long?”  Kara whispered. 

Eve glanced up, frowning. 

“I’m sorry?”

“How long?!”  Kara demanded, rounding on the woman with anger and helplessness plain in her face.  “How long did you just stand there and watch while Lena was in pain?!  Why didn’t any of you call for help?!” 

“Hey—Calm down, Supergirl.”  Vasquez put both hands up to ward off Kara, dribbling some of the water from the bottle in her hurry.

“I think that’s enough.”  The doctor added. 

“We have a policy, in the lab.”  Eve stammered, leaning away from Supergirl with terror plain in her eyes.  “No phones—and no signals can reach us down there, Ms. Luthor specifically designed it that way, she didn’t want to be distracted.  We can’t send signals out or have signals coming in to disrupt our equipment—”

“You mean she died because of your _stupid_ protocols?!”  Kara almost choked on her own words—hating herself for saying it out loud.  She hadn’t accepted that Lena was dead.  She couldn’t.

Eve broke down into sobs as Vasquez and the doctor tried to muscle Kara back. 

“I’m sorry—we—we thought it was safe!”  Eve blubbered. 

“Get off me!”  Kara roared, shoving the doctor a little harder than she meant to. 

“That’s enough!”  Vasquez roared, setting her feet as she hurled the water bottle at Kara’s head.  There was a shower of droplets, but no real damage.  Still, it was enough of a shock to give Kara pause. 

Kara blinked, bile rising in her throat as the words finally started to sink in. 

Dead.  Lena was dead. 

Kara shook her head, her curls bouncing madly as she did. 

“No—it can’t—it’s not true.”  Kara barely got the words out—her lungs weren’t working. 

“I’m sorry!”  Eve wailed, bringing her hands up to dig the heels into her eyes, to try to stop the torrential flow of tears.  “We couldn’t even go for help until we got the keycard out of her pocket—we had to wait until the gas had cleared and she was just—lying there and she wasn’t moving and there was this horrible smell—”

“Alright, that’s enough, Eve.  You don’t have to talk about it anymore.”  The doctor suddenly cut in, limping over to put an arm around her patient. 

“No.  That’s not it!”  Kara growled.  Her vision was blurred and she felt feverish again—feverish and cold.  Alternatively.  Or maybe at the same time.  She couldn’t be sure.  Everything inside of her was colliding, but nothing was breaking. 

“Tell me about the men—the ones who took her body.  The ones in masks.  Where did they come from?”  Kara managed to gasp out. 

She hardly noticed that Vasquez had knelt to mop up the puddle of water on the floor with her cape. 

Eve started shaking and shook her head. 

“Eve!  Tell me!”  Kara roared. 

“Supergirl.”  The doctor barked shrilly.  “Eve needs to rest.” 

“No.”  Kara shot back.  Spittle flew from her mouth, but she didn’t care.  “There is _no one else_ who can help me find her—everyone else is dead!  It’s down to you, Eve.  You have to tell me—”

“You won’t find her.”  Eve said with conviction, lifting her chin as her lower jaw clenched slightly in defiance.  “I’m telling you that _thing_ is not her.  Lena’s dead.”

“What do you mean?” Vasquez asked, popping back up from the floor.  She turned to look on Eve more fully. 

Eve shuddered and reached blindly as if to draw the cape closer to her again, but suddenly realized she no longer held it.  Eve bit her lip and drew her knees up to her chin instead, hugging herself tightly. 

“When we finally—when we finally got through the door, it was like we were living in a fog.  No one knew what to do—we were kind of going through the motions.  The others, they—they were in shock.  I got the keycard.  I—I told them not to touch her.  Then I went to the elevator.  I’m not sure exactly what I was planning to do—I knew we needed to call for help, but I wasn’t sure if we needed to evacuate the building and call Hazmat or not.  Anyway—it didn’t really matter anyway.  Because when I got to the lobby…they were already there.”  Eve told her captive audience without any flair. 

“There was a group of them, I don’t know how many.  I—I think they’d tied Hector and Charlie up, I’m not sure.  But I didn’t see anyone else in the lobby, just…just them.  They were all wearing robes and masks…it freaked me out and I tried to back away, but they just crowded me back into the elevator.  I don’t even know how we all fit, but when we got down to the lab…they just took over.  No shouting.  Just—swift action.  I didn’t—I didn’t even cry out.  I don’t know why.  I should have cried out.”  Eve mumbled. 

Vasquez exchanged glances with the doctor and jerked her chin, silently signaling to her colleague to step out and make a phone call.  The doctor nodded and slipped out.  No one seemed to notice. 

“The others, they—they didn’t seem to react right away.  They all just kind of—stepped back.  I told them that the lab was restricted, but I—I sounded like a mouse.  My voice was hardly working.  Two of them had grabbed me and had pushed me against the wall, so my back was turned.  I don’t know if they tied up the others too or if it was just me—all I know is that while my back was turned they tied my wrists and—and they started chanting.”  

 “Chanting?”  Vasquez interrupted.  “What did they sound like?  Male, female?  Raspy?  Smooth?  Anything distinctive?  Did you understand the language?  Did the masks muffle their voices in any way?” 

Eve shook her head, her curls bouncing. 

“Not really.  I’m not sure if—the language sounded alien to me—oh, sorry.  I didn’t mean—”  Eve glanced up frightfully at Supergirl, afraid that she’d caused offence.  But Supergirl looked pale—as if she were about to faint. 

“Did they—”  Kara wet her lips, but they still appeared to be bloodless.  “Did they read from a book?” 

Eve frowned slightly, clearly trying to remember. 

“I—I don’t think so.  I don’t know.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”  Vasquez asked Kara over Eve’s head. 

Kara shook her head slightly and then lowered her blue eyes once again to Eve.

“Eve—I know you said you didn’t understand the language, but—did you ever hear them mention Yutta Kal?  Or maybe Coville?” 

“Coville?”  Eve repeated, as if in a daze.  Her eyebrow ticked upward ever so slightly.  It was a small movement, but it made Kara’s stomach drop all the same. 

“You mean that—creep with the cult?”  Vasquez asked for clarification. 

“A cult?”  Eve demanded, fear trickling into her voice. 

“Eve—”  Kara turned her back on Vasquez and was careful to approach more slowly now, though she wasn’t sure if that was more for Eve’s benefit or her own.  If she moved too fast—she feared everything would just _flip_.  It was all balancing so precariously—she wasn’t sure which way things would fall. 

“Lena, she—she woke back up, didn’t she?”  Kara finally asked around a terrible pain in her chest. 

Eve’s face fell and she shook her head even as she started to cry and contradicted herself,

“Yes—only, it wasn’t her.  It was— _something_ else.  It was— _she_ was so strange.  She moved so fast and her eyes were glowing and I don’t—I don’t know what happened.  One minute everything had gone quiet, and then she was everywhere and there were screams and I—oh, God, there was blood everywhere.”  Eve bit into her lip and clutched at the fabric of her nightgown. 

Vasquez looked quickly to Kara, hoping for some clue as to what all this meant, but Kara’s face was a mask of hard lines and a pained frown. 

“I closed my eyes and waited to die, but—she didn’t—I don’t know, she just—she grabbed me and threw me into the vault.  The others were screaming and trying to get on the elevator, but I—I still had the keycard so they were trapped!”

“Hey, it’s alright.”  Vasquez said quickly.  She moved to Eve’s side and did her best to comfort her. 

“And then there was an explosion and it was like the whole world was broken and it—it was all just dark and quiet for so long!”  Eve was trembling as she remembered, her eyes wide until she finally focused on Supergirl again and the tension seemed to leave her shoulders.  Her expression turned peaceful, almost dreamy, “Until you came.  You saved me.” 

Vasquez glanced at Kara, surprised at the guilt she saw there, but just then the door flew open and Alex strode in looking windblown and grimmer than usual. 

“Hey, I got your message—what’s going on?”  Alex asked Vasquez though she stopped short of Kara and touched her sister’s shoulder. 

Vasquez didn’t mind.  She had no goddamn clue what was going on. 

“It’s Lena.”  Kara said quietly. 

She took a deep breath, but it only seemed to pierce her from the inside. 

She winced and stiffened, forcing herself to look into Alex’s chocolate brown eyes—she could always find comfort there. 

“I think—from what Eve’s told me—I think she’s been turned into a Worldkiller.”


	7. Chapter 7

Alex dragged both Kara and Vasquez into the hall to sort it out—she was not about to go back to all _that_. 

“That’s impossible, Kara—you know that’s insane!”  Alex lashed out as soon as they were far enough away from the medbay for Alex to risk shouting. 

“I don’t like it either!”  Kara shouted back just so she could react somehow.  She felt like she was wilting—everything inside of her was collapsing in on itself. 

“The Rock of Yutta Kal was destroyed!”  Alex retorted. 

It was still painful.  All of it.  Everything they’d been through with Sam, and then Reign—twice.  It was hard for Alex to think about it.  And she usually didn’t.  Not unless she’d drunk a bit more than was good for her—but she only did that on the lonely nights when she couldn’t bring herself to pick up the phone.  She knew Sam had said they would only be a phone call away, but who ever _really_ means that anyway?  The Ariases had moved on.  To get a fresh start.  And Alex didn’t blame them.  A lot of people were moving on recently.  It didn’t affect Alex one bit.  She was still here. 

“They didn’t use the Rock of Yutta Kal.”  Kara shot back, with less heat this time.  She was running out of steam, and she knew it.  She could feel herself growing weaker—shrinking away from the thought of having to face her best friend as an enemy.  “They used the Harun-el.” 

“What—Wait.  I thought you took that back to Argo.”  Alex frowned. 

Kara lashed out suddenly at the wall, smashing a hole to create a handhold.  She gripped the jagged edge of the concrete hard, needing to feel the edges against her skin even if she knew it wasn’t sharp enough to cut. 

“I did—it seems Lena figured out how to make it.” 

“God, is there anything that woman can’t do?”  Vasquez asked aloud, sounding impressed. 

Both Danvers girls turned to glare at the Top Tech Agent.  Alex with disdain and Kara with pained rage. 

“If she’s a Worldkiller now—probably not.”  Kara forced out through lips that barely moved. 

“Okay—stop.  Just stop for a second.”  Alex snapped. 

She paced away and pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting a serious headache and some nausea.  Slowly she made her way back to Kara and Vasquez. 

She squared her shoulders and forced herself to look Kara in the eye. 

“Walk me through it.”  Alex commanded. 

Kara nodded and took a deep breath. 

She told Alex everything.  Everything that Eve had told them.  Well, _almost_ everything.  She left out the part about Lena dying.  She couldn’t give something like that voice a second time.  Instead she focused on the men in masks—obviously Coville supporters that the DEO had somehow managed to miss in the round-up.

“Alex, we’ve got to find them.  They’ve got Lena—”

“Okay.  Just—give me a second.”  Alex held up a hand to stop Kara before her sister started rambling. 

Alex’s thoughts were racing.  They had limited resources at their disposal.  A city already facing one crisis—she wasn’t sure how much more any of them could handle.  Another Worldkiller?  No—they were still recovering from the last one.    

“Okay—last time Lena used the Harun-el to split Sam and Reign, right?”  Alex asked, her fingers twitching slightly. 

“Yes—she reversed Coville’s Worldkiller formula.”  Kara explained. 

“Okay—so, can we do that again?”  Alex braced, waiting. 

Kara blinked against the sting of tears and lifted her eyes to the ceiling.  She could feel the weight of a thousand obstacles piling up on her chest. 

“I—I don’t know the exact formula she used, she—she didn’t share that with me.  She doesn’t, ummm—apparently she doesn’t share much of anything with me anymore.  She didn’t trust me and now—now she’s gone.  And without Winn I’m not sure how to—and what does it matter?  We don’t have any of it left!”  Kara brought her other fist over to slam into the wall and pushed her forehead against the cold of the wall, breathing heavily as she tried to keep from screaming, at this rate she was going to fail soon, and then just _explode_. 

Everything was so messed up!  Why did they have to keep secrets from each other?!

“I’m confused.”  Vasquez gathered up the courage to speak after Kara’s breathing had calmed slightly.  “What is it that we don’t have?” 

Alex was rubbing circles into Kara’s back, but she turned her head slightly to talk out of the corner of her mouth. 

“The Harun-el.  Kara and Mon-el had to go to Argo to get it last time—and they were reluctant to let us have even a small piece.  They had to go before a council and make a case, and they almost didn’t make it back in time.” 

“We can’t do that again.”  Kara said forcefully. 

She straightened and wiped at her nose, glaring at Alex even though it was not her sister that she was angry with. She wasn't angry with Lena either--she _wasn't_ \--she was just...angry.

“Alex, we don’t have that kind of time.” 

“What do you mean?”  Alex demanded, her brown eyes narrowing. 

“Eve said that Lena—that the Worldkiller in her is already very strong.  She—she killed all those people in the lab—I’m almost certain of it.  Those markings on the walls—that was from her laser vision.  And the ones in the lobby who had been ripped apart—that was her.  I think—I think she also set off the explosion.  To destroy the rest of the Harun-el so nobody—so no one could use it.  Not to turn her back.  And not to make any competition.”  The words took a lot out of Kara. 

She found herself sitting, with Alex hovering over her. 

“Hey—are you okay?”  Alex asked, worried. 

“No.  None of this is okay.”  Kara gasped, her breath coming short.  She felt like the walls were closing in—like the air around her was growing thinner.  She tried to make fists but her fingers barely twitched.  Her hands were empty.  What choice did she have if she didn’t have anything to save Lena with? 

“Kara—breathe.  Okay?  Just breathe.”  Alex coached, dropping down to her knees to be level with Kara. 

“I’m—I’m trying.”  Kara choked, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping her head down onto her arms.  “We’ve—got to find them, Alex.  We’ve got to stop them.”

“Hey—you’ve had a rough morning.”  Alex said softly, brushing Kara’s curls back so she could massage her shoulders and neck.  “Let’s get you under a yellow sun lamp, okay?” 

“I don’t—need—a—sun lamp.”  Kara argued, glancing up angrily.  “I’m not weak.” 

“I didn’t say you were—I just think it might help.”  Alex murmured. 

Kara’s eyes narrowed further and she swatted Alex’s hand away. 

“I’m not the one who needs help.”  Kara snapped.  “Lena’s out there.  _She’s_ the one who needs our help.” 

Alex didn’t move.  She studied Kara carefully, her expression unchanged. 

“Okay.  I’ll get a team together and see if we can get anything on the group in masks.  Maybe someone saw them coming or going.  And we check again for properties connected to Coville.” 

“Yeah, you do that.”  Kara growled, hauling herself to her feet. 

She wanted to fly.  Hover.  Get off the ground and out of this space where the air was so close and thin. 

But she couldn’t seem to lift off the ground. 

She swayed where she stood, glaring at Alex—daring her to make a move. 

“I’m going to study Coville’s journal.  Maybe there’s something we can use.” 

Alex nodded curtly. 

“That’s a good idea.” 

Kara opened her mouth to retort—but then she realized Alex had _agreed_ with her. 

Suddenly Kara didn’t have any energy.  It was as if she had only been able to move forward while she had her anger to hold onto, but now that it was curbed—snuffed out.  She had nothing.  She felt so—helpless—her world was falling apart and all Kara could do was pick up the pieces.

 

But pieces—they were better than nothing. 


	8. Chapter 8

It was Alex who found the dagger. 

She gave Kara her space, let her lock herself away in a conference room—no one wanted to set foot in the lab after recent events—to pour over the deluded ravings of the man who had started all of this. 

But Alex went to the room no one ever talked about.  J’onn had only shown it to her a day or two before he’d left, advising her never to open it again unless she had no other choice. 

Well—Alex was all out of friends.  And choices. 

So she opened the damn door.

It was where the DEO stored the things they were ashamed of.  Tech that they’d gotten from Cadmus back when it was still under their purview.  Weapons they’d confiscated and deemed too powerful to use—and too tempting to destroy.  They kept Kryptonite here.  And everything from Astra In-ze’s apartment.  The one she’d lived in for over a decade while she planned her revenge on her kin who seemed to sully Krypton’s memory—namely Kal-el and Kara.  It was a slap in the face really, to see that the woman had lived for so long right under their noses, gathering information and noticing things the DEO in their ignorance had ignored.  There were other things too.  Things having nothing to do with Krypton.  Notes and old projects from disgraced agents—like Jeremiah.  Treasures from other worlds that hadn’t been returned to their lands of origin either because those places no longer exist—or because it wasn’t deemed worth the trouble. 

Alex found the dagger back in a corner where J’onn had shoved all of Coville’s findings.  He hadn’t stopped with the Yukka Kal Stone.  The man had spent years of his life scouring the globe for Kryptonian artifacts and legends—and he had found plenty.  J’onn just didn’t have the heart to tell Kara—to tell her that pieces of her culture had been stolen and corroded and horded all for Coville’s delight.  So he could convince himself his path was a righteous one—one blessed by a goddess that was perverted and so unlike any of the deities true Kryptonians like Kal and Kara’s parents would have worshipped.     

She’d been through enough. 

Alex squatted with a sigh and took up the knife.  It was almost as long as her forearm and seemed to glow in the eerie light of the room.  There were markings along the handle—an older version of the Kryptonian Alex had learned from Kara.  Even so—she knew enough of the language to get the gist.  It spoke of sacrifice.  Of sins.  Of retribution and banishment to a netherworld. 

Real grim stuff. 

Alex turned the blade in her hand, frowning as she ran her finger along the edge.  The blade felt—like bone.  Not particularly sharp.  But there were three sigils carved along the flat of the blade—the same three on both sides. 

It seemed there had been three witches called to bring eternal darkness—and it took three noble houses to purge them from the world.  Alex ran her finger along the symbol she knew best—the ‘El Mayarah’.  Hope. 

The others stood for Light or Truth.  And of course—Justice. 

Alex felt a sob well in her throat and she turned her head away—unable to look at the blade in her hand.  It had never been an option before.  Not with Sam. 

But Alex had gone in to see Eve after Kara and Vasquez had dispersed.  She’d pushed her for more details.  And Alex had been crushed by what she’d heard. 

She didn’t think Lena—who for so long had fought just to be allowed a chance to be a positive influence in the world—would take kindly to the thought of her body being host to a terrible demon set on burning the world around them to ash...to the fifth Worldkiller. 

Alex’s phone buzzed and she used her cuff to wipe away tears before she tugged it from her boot.  It was Vasquez letting her know that James had arrived—how the hell he’d gotten back so quickly, Alex didn’t know. 

And if she was honest--she didn't care.

Alex cleared her throat and stood carefully, tucking the dagger into her waistband at her mid-back, keeping it within easy reach.  Alex reached up and ran a hand through her hair—she knew Lena had hated her haircut, not that the Luthor had ever said it to her face.  Sometimes Alex missed it too—having hair to fiddle with when she was nervous.  Or to braid when she needed to focus on something other than the loneliness in her chest. 

She could still remember the first time Lena had come into the DEO.  She’d been a woman inconvenienced at the time—and she let everyone know it.  She’d been defensive.  Infuriating even.  But always willing to help.  Even when she felt she was being treated unfairly and essentially held against her will.  When things had started heating up, Lena had demanded a uniform so she could jump in and help—Alex could still remember walking in to find her tying her hair up in a messy bun. She’d been tugging so hard on the elastic that it had snapped.  It was the only time in her life that Alex had heard the woman curse.  At the time, it had been amusing. 

Now the memory was bittersweet because Alex knew, deep down, that she would never hear Lena’s brogue ‘feckin hell!’ again. 

Alex had braided Lena’s hair. 

If she closed her eyes she could almost feel it again—Lena’s hair had been so smooth.  Not like Kara’s.  Kara’s was always getting tangled when they were kids—as if it had a mind of its own and would only lie flat if Kara willed it so.  But Lena’s hair had been silky, like those absurd fairytale princesses who brush their tresses 300 times before bed.  Alex had been surprised—and a little timid.  She had been afraid that maybe she’d be too rough and Lena would blame her for that on top of everything else. 

But she hadn’t.  

Lena had just sat there and glared at the wall while Alex plaited her hair back. 

They had both been angry and untalkative when Alex began—but by the time she’d finished, the air had felt softer.  Open.  And Lena had even said thank you—Alex couldn’t really remember a single time in their teens when Kara had thanked her for pinning her down to experiment with flat irons and curlers.  But then again—that had been a different Alex.  A much harsher, bitter Alex.

The Alex that had braided Lena Luthor’s hair had been much more centered—felt good about herself.  And was more open to letting people in.  To making friends. 

God, Lena had been a good friend.  A good—balm for Alex’s family.  Not just for Kara.  But for Winn, whose head sometimes got too big and who needed that competition.  And for James—even if it hadn’t worked out, everyone could see that James had become much more open minded since meeting Lena.  And J’onn—he’d never really had anyone question his authority as DEO director before Lena.  Alex certainly never had.  But Lena had made her question how she wanted to run the organization she’d given her life to.  She’d made Alex want to make it better.  To _be_ better.  At asking for help. 

And it had been Lena who had helped Alex with the adoption, when she was too _uncertain_ to go to anyone else. _“You’ll be a great mom, Alex.  And you’ve got plenty of time.  If you want this now, then I’ll support you.  Completely.  But please just make sure this is what you really want,”_ Lena had advised, _“and it’s not just an easy way to plug up a hole in your heart that you’re too stubborn to address.”_  

“God, I’m going to miss you.”  Alex said to no one in particular. 

She used her cuff again to clear her eyes before stepping out of the room.  The door closed behind her with a definitive slam and the lights went out in the room no one spoke of. 


	9. Chapter 9

“Another Worldkiller?”  James sounded as incredulous as Alex had first felt at the news. 

“I saw it happen before.”  Kara defended tiredly, rubbing at her eyes.  She’d been going over Coville’s journal for hours.  Mostly it had just made her heart ache whenever she’d unknowingly turn to a page littered with sticky notes covered with Winn or Lena’s handwriting.  It was just another reminder that Kara was absolutely on her own in this. 

“And everything Eve said lined up with what I saw when Olivia tried Coville’s formula before.  She said she saw—Lena convulsing and after the masked men performed their ritual, Lena got up and had super speed and strength and Eve even said her eyes were glowing.”  Kara gritted her teeth when she thought of it—Olivia had gone through a lot of pain during her transformation.  And again in her subsequent neutralization. 

Kara hated the thought of Lena going through anything like that. 

“But I thought there was a special rock or something.”  James muttered, rubbing absentmindedly at his bald head. 

“There was—Lena made some more.”  Kara said tightly.    

James froze and his jaw clenched. 

_You have to understand, the work I do—there will be some things that I just can’t share with you, James._

He chuckled without humor and dug his hands deep into his pockets. 

“Of course she did.”  He grumbled. Secrets.  Secrets were quickly becoming his least favorite thing in the universe.

“Okay—so.”  James let out a breath and glanced up at Kara and Alex who stood near the door as if she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to join in on the conversation just yet.  “How are we going to split her from the Worldkiller?” 

“Well, I was thinking we could recreate Lena’s prison.”  Kara began.  “The one she made for Reign—and we could keep her there until Lena breaks through and when she does she could make some more of the Harun-el and we’ll use it to split them up.  Once we’ve done that, it should be pretty easy.  We can use the kryptonite we confiscated to destroy whoever it is that—”

“James.”  Alex interrupted Kara’s rambling without looking over to see if Kara protested or not.  “What Kara’s not telling you—is that we can’t split them up this time.” 

“Yes we can.”  Kara said quickly, her throat suddenly seizing. 

“Because there aren’t—two beings in Lena’s body anymore.  It’s just—just the Worldkiller.  Lena is—she’s gone.”  Alex explained as gently as she could—she knew she failed because she was crying and she knew James was crying and Kara had flipped over a table. 

“No she’s not!  She’s still in there!”  Kara shouted. 

Alex turned around and closed the door.  She could make out a few hazy shapes coming toward her in alarm, some agents worried by the raised voices.  But Alex forced her chin up and shook her head to keep them back.  She breathed steadily through her nose as she walked over to the laptop left open on the podium near the projection screen. 

It took Alex all of three seconds to pull up the pictures her team had collected from L-Corp earlier that afternoon. 

Alex heard James collapse in one of the chairs around the conference table, but she didn’t look up. 

“This is what it did, Kara.  This—this wasn’t Lena.”  Alex went slowly through the pictures—bodies torn apart, skulls smashed in—it was a brutality that would have made Lena sick.  The kind that would have made Reign laugh.

It did make James sick.  He wretched into the nearest trash bin.

Alex finally wiped at her eyes and looked up at Kara, hating that she was breaking her baby sister’s heart. 

“You’ve faced four of these before, Kara.  We’ve seen a pattern.  Every time before, it takes time for the Worldkiller to take control.  There’s always a window.  A time for the human to fight…except for Grace, but that was because she was so easily seduced.”  Alex remembered numbly.  She didn’t have any more room for sadness though—all of it was taken up for Lena. 

“Lena wouldn’t!”  Kara pleaded, a sorrowful flush to her cheeks. 

“I know, Kara.”  Alex said quietly. 

She shut off the laptop and crossed to her sister. 

Kara scrambled back, the chair rolled on squeaking wheels, trying to keep distance, but Alex caught her wrist and sat down stiffly in the chair before her. 

“I want you to think about Lena.”  Alex said, swallowing back a sob. 

“I know what you’re trying to do.  Stop it.”  Kara pleaded. 

Alex didn’t relent. 

“I want you to think about her—about how strong she was.”

“Don’t do that!  Don’t you _dare_ use past tense!”  Kara screamed.  It was like a dam broke and she couldn’t stop crying. 

Alex could only watch.  She swallowed and ran her thumb over the back of Kara’s hand.  She was crying too, but her tears weren’t explosive like Kara’s.  She wasn’t strong like Kara.  She had no strength for anger.    

“Lena wouldn’t have let anyone use her for something like that.  You know that, Kara.  She would have fought back.  She knew what it was like for Sam.  She would have known—what had to be done, and she would have done it.  Whatever did this—it doesn’t have Lena’s conscience to contend with.  It has free reign.”  Out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw James slowly come back to the table.  There was so much regret on his face—so much sadness and regret. 

But he would have to wait a minute or two before Alex could comfort him.  At the moment she was busy with Kara—who had twice as much regret and a desire for something unfulfilled etched all over her face.

“And you said it yourself Kara…we don’t have time.  That… _monster_ isn’t toying with us like the others, like Reign did.  It’s already in full control, you know, it’s-it’s at full strength.  Right now it’s with Coville’s agents, but who knows how long that will last?  How long will it keep taking orders?”  Alex paused to take a deep breath— _God_ , even breathing burned her insides.  “We can’t—we can’t risk it, Kara.  There’s too much at stake.  We can’t pull our resources to try to build some kind of prison—not when we know we have nothing to hold it with.  And even if we could somehow replicate Lena’s technology—why trap it?  So we can what, so we can-we can study it?  Why?  I mean—why do that?  We know what they want. What they do.  And Kara—Lena wouldn’t want that.  She—she tried so hard.  To make her own legacy.  To do good.  We can’t—let this thing ruin that for her.” 

“No.  We can’t.”  James echoed.  He looked very far away from himself, as if he was only half there. 

Kara shook her head over and over again.  She was choking on her own tears.  They were hot and lodging in her throat—making it impossible for her to scream. 

Lena couldn’t be dead.  She _couldn’t_ be.

She had so much to do.  So many things to build.  So many smiles to give.  She had so many people who loved her—people she knew and even those she hadn’t met yet.  The world needed Lena.  Rao, Kara needed Lena!

“What—what do you want me to do?”  Kara hiccupped.  She was a mess.  Her curls had lost their sunny sheen and she was leaking everywhere.  Eyes.  Nose.  Apparently being Kryptonian meant there was no end to her supply of tears.  She could cry forever. 

She probably _would_ cry forever.

Alex took a shuddering breath. 

She reached around carefully and pulled the dagger from her waistband. 

As soon as she saw the blade, Kara started to tremble.  She cried harder than she had before. 

“No—no, I can’t.  Alex.  I—I can’t.  Please don’t ask me to—I can’t.”

Alex let Kara cry.  She held her hands and let the tears wash over their interlocked fingers.  She kissed Kara’s knuckles when there was a lull in her sobs, but she didn’t try to protest.  She knew she had no right to.  She just let Kara cry and held her.  The knife sat on the table.  A quiet surety. 

“Alex, please—you know I can’t.  I can’t.  It’s Lena.  It’s _Lena_.  You can’t ask me to—please don’t ask me to.”

Eventually, Kara dissolved into sobs alone.  Words failed.  She rocked back and forth, at war with herself. 

She hadn’t killed Reign.  She’d let that responsibility fall to another.  And even though in the end, it had worked out—Kara knew that Sam had been scarred.  It had rocked her to her core.  There had been an indomitable force inside of her—a need to protect Ruby.  But Sam wasn’t a killer.  She was a caretaker.  A kind, hardworking woman.  And Kara had let something hard and dark take root inside of her because Kara hadn’t been willing to hold it close to her own chest. 

That was on Kara. 

The fact that Sam had spent five days in the DEO medbay plagued by night terrors was on her. 

The fact that Lena had looked at Supergirl and known.  Had _accused_ without saying.

The fact that Alex had never gotten the chance to tell Sam how she really felt.

That was all Kara’s fault. 

And now Lena was…

“I can’t.  Please Alex.  Please.” 

Lena was dead. 

“Lena’s gone, Kara.”  Alex whispered.

Kara exploded. 

She could feel a wave of something _beyond_ herself, some awful force welling up inside and she let go of Alex before it could hurt her. 

It was her anger and heartbreak—her _torment_ finally took shape and ripped itself from her broken lungs.  Kara shattered.  She screamed.  She screamed as if language had lost its meaning, as if the world around her meant nothing—there was no comfort.  She’d lost all hope in love. 

Kara shot straight up into the air, crashing through the ceiling into the cool night air.  She aimed for the stars—for somewhere far away from where Lena didn’t exist. 

In the conference room, Alex brushed her hair from her eyes and glanced over at the table. 

The dagger was gone.    


	10. Chapter 10

Kara had meant to fly so fast and so far away that even her grief couldn’t hold her back—she wanted to be _consumed_ with quiet.  Somewhere beyond the stars.  Beyond the last of hope’s light. 

But she couldn’t make it very far with that dagger weighing her down.

She wanted to throw it.  Get rid of it.  What did she care if it had her family crest embedded in the hilt like some unkept promise?  She could reject that legacy if she wanted to.  Lena had taught her that.    

When Krypton had exploded, there had been a piece that survived.  Hope.  And Kara had clung to it so tightly that it had somehow fused with her—hope was part of who she was.  A Kryptonian on earth—hope.  Always hope. 

But now there was anger too--she couldn't fly fast enough to leave it behind.  It was inside her, crowding out everything else.

Alex wanted Kara to believe that this time—there was nothing left.  No pieces.  No trace of Lena.   

Kara had lost an entire world, and somehow Fate had found a way to take even more—to snuff out the goodness, the light that was Lena and leave a Worldkiller behind. 

 _The only way to stop me is to kill me._   Reign taunted from somewhere deep in Kara’s memory.

It had been hard enough when Sam turned out to be a Worldkiller, but _Lena?_

That was—that was unthinkable.

When Kara got high enough that her lungs started to quake, Kara simply gave up and became weightless.  She floated. 

She did what Alex had suggested. 

She thought about Lena. 

If she thought about Lena, she could forget about the horrible thing Alex expected her to do. 

So Kara tried to picture Lena’s face—hold her in her mind’s eye.  Remember.

Remember her favorite color—she always said it was black.  Kara knows it’s blue. 

Remember her favorite fruit—kale.

Remember her middle name—Kieran.  And the way she _said it_. 

Remember the traces of her accent—the one she’d picked up in boarding school.  The one she had slowly forgotten to hide. 

Remember the way she sometimes drawled certain words like ‘adventure’ and ‘quantum entanglement’ and even Kara’s own name—Lena had once told her sleepily, after hours watching some documentary or other, that _cara_ was an old Irish word for ‘friend’.

Remember the way her nose crinkled when she _really_ laughed.

Remember the way she talked with her hands when she got carried away.  And the way she bit her thumb when she was working, getting lost in thought, and would roll her eyes whenever Kara waved potstickers under her nose to try to tempt her away from her laptop.

Remember her sarcastic quips—her cunning.  How she always led with a tick of her eyebrow—even in chess, her favorite game.    

Remember her favorite pair of shoes—her ratty old pair of Converse that she was more than happy slipping off to kick behind the door as soon as she crossed the threshold so she could be free to race Kara to the fridge for the last pint of ice cream.    

Remember her favorite restaurant was somewhere in Paris—she had promised to take Kara someday. 

Remember the way she carried herself—with confidence.  The way she took up space and didn’t apologize for it—not just as a business woman, but even on movie nights, when she’d sprawl across Kara’s whole couch on a quest for true comfort—she always ended up using Kara’s stomach for a pillow. 

Remember her mismatched eyes—one soft, verdant green; the other icy but never quite blue. 

Remember who her heroes were—Wonder Woman (obviously), Eleanor Roosevelt (again, obvious), Coco Chanel (a little less obvious but no surprise), Einstein (Lena was such a nerd), Indra Nooyi (nerd!), Nathan Fillion (for some reason)--there was at least one more, Kara was sure of it...

_Supergirl may have saved me, but Kara Danvers you are my hero._

Kara’s heart ached and she closed her eyes, reveling in the quiet and the cold pushing against her skin. 

There was too much to remember.  She didn’t want to have to rely on faulty memory—maybe Lena’s favorite fruit was actually _strawberries_.  What if Kara remembered it wrong?  She needed more time—more time with her best friend.  There was a lot she didn’t know—and how was she supposed to remember accurately if she didn’t know?  She knew Lena’s favorite movie.  Her favorite song.  But what about her third favorite dinosaur?  Or her least favorite NSYNC song?  They had never discussed it. 

Kara swallowed another sob and held her breath.  She knew she was waiting for something as she floated far away from the rest of the world—a sign maybe.  From Rao.  From somewhere.  Just something to help her _accept this_.  That Lena was really gone.  Dead. 

How could she possibly accept that _this_ was how it was going to end? 

Kara started to panic as she tried desperately to remember her last conversation with Lena—her last _real_ , face to face conversation with Lena.  Not just half-smiles or waves in passing.  And not the text she’d gotten last night about work either.  But spoken words underscored by body language with feelings on the line—and she couldn’t.  For a heart-pounding, tears freezing to her eyelashes moment, Kara couldn’t _remember_.  And her spirits fell.  Hard.

She hurtled toward the earth in a free-fall, spinning.  She could almost convince herself that when she hit the ground she would wake up and it would turn out to be nothing but a dream.  A horrible, quickly-fading dream. 

But then she heard Lena’s voice as she finally remembered:

_“I miss you.”_

It had been days ago. 

 _Rao_ , how had Kara ever let the silence stretch that long?!  Lena was her best friend!  She needed her every single day—

It had been several days ago, when Lena had come to Kara at Catco.  Because Lena wasn’t a coward like Kara.  Lena was open and had no secrets from her best friend.  She didn’t duck and hide away, let things bottle up inside.  She had learned to let Kara help her.  To trust.

So she had come in good faith.  With something on her mind. 

And, naturally, Kara had tried to duck out before she would get caught in another painful conversation where she had to carefully examine everything she said for dangers—for anything even _remotely_ related to Lena’s least favorite subject; Supergirl.  It was meticulous work, polishing her lies. Protecting herself. 

Kara had used an old excuse—one she’d used too many times before.  And she could remember the hurt look in Lena’s eyes, the way she’d dipped her chin as if preparing for a blow. 

 _“Kara—have I done something wrong?”_   Lena had asked.  She had twisted her fingers together as she asked it, it was a nervous tick she had.  “ _I haven’t seen you in awhile—are you avoiding me?_ ”

 _“What, no.  Of course not.”_   Kara had lied too easily.  Maybe that was the problem.  Why was lying so easy?  They were drowning in secrets. 

Lena had given her a soulful look—as if she had known, even then, that it was the last time they would see each other.  As if she had a need to memorize every curve of Kara’s face.  To thoroughly analyze the various shades of blue that provided the contour to Kara’s eyes.  To hold her breath and give the moment some tension.  Some intensity.

So it would be easier to remember. 

“ _I miss you._ ”  Lena had whispered it.  Offered it breathlessly.  And she’d bit her lip as she waited for Kara to say something light, to turn their meeting into something more familiar. 

All it would have taken would have been a smile from Kara.  A laugh of, “ _What are you talking about?  I’m right here!_ ”  And open arms.  A hug would have fixed everything, at least for that moment.  It would have made this memory warm and sunny. 

But it wasn’t.   

Kara had averted her eyes—always afraid that Lena would see right through her if she looked hard enough.  Her smile had been tired that day.

“ _Lena, I’m kinda busy…_ ”

_“Oh.  I’m sorry, I’ll just—”_

If that had been it, Kara might just feel sadness—she could drown up here in her own tears as she cried over the memory of Lena walking away with her head dipped low and her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she tried to hold herself together—but that wasn’t it.  Because Lena in her infinite kindness had given Kara another chance—another chance to make it right.  To make their last conversation mean something.  To make a memory that wouldn’t make Kara hate herself forever. 

“ _Kara, wait—”_ Lena had come back, determination set in her severely beautiful face _, “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy, but I just_ — _I need to know if there’s something I can do.  Every time we talk lately, it’s like this.  There’s this distance, and I know my—my fallout with Supergirl has to affect you.  I know how much she means to you, but I want you to know—I would never ask you to choose me over your hero.  Never.”_

“ _That’s not_ —”  Kara had tried to interrupt, but Lena hadn’t let her. 

 _“Please let me finish.  I want you to know that I don’t hate Supergirl.  I’m not against her.  I just—I wanted so much to be someone she could trust, and—and it just didn’t work out.  I can’t spend all of my time worrying about whether or not she’ll believe me the next time I tell her I’m trying to do something good.  It’s exhausting and I can’t keep putting myself in positions where I have to be on guard all the time.”_ Lena had paused, clearly getting worked up and Kara hated that she had taken some pleasure in her friend’s insecurity.  A cruel part of her had finally felt powerful, now that the roles were reversed and it was Lena who looked so uncertain, with her mouth twisting as she chewed on her inner cheek, clearly racking her brain for the reason—for what possibly could have gone wrong in their friendship.  Kara had almost felt giddy.

 _“See how it feels?!”_   Kara had wanted to shout.  _“This is how I feel every single day!”_

It would have been easy then—to lay all the blame on Lena.  To just give in and let go—let go of the pain, the _work_ it took to keep their friendship afloat when she was the only one aware of the leaks and the cracks—of the water pouring in.  

She thanked Rao a thousand times that she hadn’t—that those awful, selfish thoughts had been fleeting.  She was grateful that she hadn’t given voice to a single one.  Though in the face of recent events—of losing Lena for real, that victory felt hollow.      

Lena had gathered her thoughts and then caught Kara up in her green stare,

“ _That’s why your friendship is so important to me, Kara.  I’ve never felt that I’ve had to hide from you.  You’ve always been there for me and I don’t want to take you for granted.  So if I did something to upset you—please tell me._   _I want to fix it, I just—I don’t know how.”_   Lena had always been brutal in her honesty.  Kara thought sometimes she must not know how much. 

It brought tears to her eyes now, to think about how it had ended. 

 _“Kara please—tell me what to do.”_   Lena had whispered in a way that made it sound painful.  _“I can’t lose you too.”_

Underneath had been what went unsaid, the underhanded, unintentional blow that had Kara forcing a smile to mask her hasty retreat— _because I already lost Supergirl._     

 _“Lena, you haven’t done anything wrong.”_   Kara had tossed over her shoulder as she snagged her press pass, giving clear signals that the conversation was over.  _“I promise.  Everything’s fine.”_  

She had squeezed Lena’s hand—Kara remembered that much.  That she had slipped her fingers through Lena’s as she tried to sidle past, for comfort or just for contact, Kara couldn’t be sure.  But she remembered very clearly the watery, sad smile Lena had given her—it had felt like a goodbye.  Like a _goodbye_ , goodbye. 

Kara wished now that she had stayed a little longer.  That she had opened her arms to Lena.  That she hadn’t made her cry.  That she had said it, at least once—but she hadn’t.

 _Rao_ , she’d been _such a_ _coward_. 

Lost and drifting several miles above the earth, Kara screamed.  She screamed even louder and longer than she had before.  The air was thin and seemed to slice at her lungs, but she didn’t care.  She screamed and she screamed and she _screamed_. 

Everything was _not_ fine. 


	11. Chapter 11

When Kara couldn’t float anymore, she sank.

She still had the knife.  It weighed her down.  Dragged her back to Earth.        

She crashed into a snowy mountain peak and wished that she could somehow feel the cold and the pain of the fall—so that her outside could match her inside.  She felt so out of synch with herself, so out of place.  She was terrified and trembling inside a body that could topple mountains. 

It made her hate herself.   

Kara could still hear National City in the distance.  She could hear Interstate traffic.  Foghorns out on the distant ocean.  They were sounds brought to her by an unforgiving wind.  It was relentless, hurling _life_ at her.  Sounds she couldn’t escape.  She could hear enough to fill the emptiness that had filled her heart. 

Kara curled up in her cape and sobbed while the wind howled all around her. 

Kara wasn’t a killer.  It went against everything she had decided the House of El should stand for.  She was the Earth’s Champion.  A defender.  She _saved_ people, she didn’t kill them.  Just like she’d saved Sam.  Surely she could save Lena too.  That had to be the point of all of this.  She _had_ to save Lena.  Hadn’t she promised?  She had.  She’d made Lena _so many_ promises.

Alex was wrong to ask Kara to kill the Worldkiller.  There _had_ to be another way.  A way to save Lena and get rid of the WorldKiller too.  Even if there was only the smallest of chances—Kara had to cling to it.  Because Lena was worth saving.  Always.

How could they know, anyway? 

How could they _know_ , beyond any doubt, that Lena was gone?  How could they _really_ know that Lena wasn’t still in there? 

What made Alex so sure?

How could they expect Kara to just—accept something like that without proof?  How could they ask her to give up on her best friend?!  Why was it so easy for them to accept Lena’s death?  To accept that the Worldkiller had taken over?  Kara knew Lena would fight.  Lena had _always_ been a fighter.  It was one of the things Kara had loved about her—one of _many_ things Kara had loved about her.

It was in that feverish moment of breathless indecision on some unknown mountaintop that Kara realized her own little betrayal—the sign she’d been waiting for had been inside all along. 

She had loved Lena. 

Had.  Loved.

Past tense. 

The worst had already happened and there was nothing Kara could do about it.  She had started thinking of Lena in the past tense.  Had consigned her to memory.  Had been wallowing in tears not only because of the tragedy, but for the finality of it all.  As far as Kara was concerned, the battle was already lost. 

Her best friend was dead. 

And Kara _had loved_ her. 

“Lena!”  Her name left Kara’s lips broken and unprepared for the strong winds at such a high altitude.  Kara’s cry was lost before it had the chance to give meaning. 

Kara bowed her head in defeat—a fresh set of tears dripping down her chin.

She had let Alex trick her into accepting that Lena was dead, and that her body was just a vessel for the Worldkiller.  Which meant—

Which meant, the only way for Kara to keep her promise was to accept that she couldn’t save Lena.  There was no Lena to save. 

She couldn’t save Lena. 

Kara’s entire body tensed as the realization coursed through her system—through her Kryptonian blood and her useless, fragile heart.  All of this power—all of this _strength_ in her bulletproof body and she _couldn’t save Lena_. 

She had failed.  Utterly and Completely. 

Kara screamed again, this time releasing not only her despair, but her anger.  Her throat was so sore, her lungs so useless—it was painful.  And she relished that pain.  Her voice was powerful, overtaking the wind.  Her eyes burned, melting snow and rock alike as she unleashed her fury.

What did it matter—having all this strength, wearing _this suit_ if she couldn’t save the people she loved?!    

Kara’s helpless, bitter anger went deep, but she didn’t dig to the core just yet.  She would wait to tap into _that_ pain until she went after Lena’s killer. 

The thought gave her strength, gave her purpose.  It pulsed through her, golden like fire, and Kara breathed deeply, letting the glow of hatred fill her up.  She stood tall in the wind, shirking aside the Kara that had been crushed to dust in her grief.  _That_ Kara had loved too late and lost them everything.  _That_ Kara had failed. 

This Kara would not lose.  She would not fail.

She understood that she couldn’t save Lena.  But that had never been the promise— _this_ Kara understood, with every unbreakable bone in her body, that her promise to _protect_ _Lena_ was the only thing that mattered.  She had to keep that promise.  She had to protect Lena’s legacy—the good she had done.  The children’s hospital.  L-Corp.  Catco.  Lena had left her mark all over National City.  Her name wasn’t so mistrusted anymore.  She had changed so many lives.  She really was the Luthor who had saved the world.

Kara couldn’t let a Worldkiller wreck that.

She _wouldn’t_. 

She would kill it first. 

The dagger no longer seemed a burden—too heavy.  It was actually quite light as Kara gripped the hilt with new purpose.  Her pupils were needlepoints, her mouth a grim line.  She was numb all over, burned by her all-encompassing anger.  She let the family crest press into her feverish skin.

“I miss you.”  Kara said the words now because she hadn’t said them when it would have mattered.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

All around her, snow and rocks and wind seemed to tremble—as well they should.

“I will protect you, always.  I promise.”

A naïve, frightened Kara had lost Krypton all those years ago.  But she’d grown since then.  She’d faced shapeshifters who had taken on the form of friends.  She’d survived a Black Mercy.  Faced loved ones come back from the dead with intent to kill.  She’d almost been crushed and fragmented by the impossibilities of maintaining two identities, but it hadn’t killed her.  It had ruined plenty of her relationships, but she’d survived.    

She’d lost so much. 

But she wasn’t going to let the fifth and final Worldkiller take anymore. 

She’d been losing Lena in pieces ever since she’d given in to those nagging voices in her head, when she’d made the decision not to trust.  And now she would never have the opportunity to fix it.  She couldn’t even hold onto that final piece—that hope she had hidden away for so long that Lena would forgive her once she knew the truth. 

Kara would always regret that.  Always. 

But she wouldn’t regret killing the Worldkiller. 

Of that, she was dead certain. 


	12. Chapter 12

It was almost laughable, really, how easy it was after that. 

The old Kara would have broken to pieces over it all—the violence, the icy inescapability of it.  But _that_ Kara had had a soft, human heart.  A sister who’d found love.  A best friend.  Hope. 

This Kara had none of those things. 

She was in too much pain to feel fear.  Too angry to feel remorse.  She was no longer full of sunshine—it was all fire.  Fire and desolation.  Golden and terrible like the dawn. 

She did not sleep.  Days blurred into nights, but Kara didn’t see the point of the distinction.  Time was no longer her concern.  It wasn’t a steady stream, she was only aware of starts and stops.  Of broken bits.  Memories were her nightmares and she only dreamed of one thing, finding the Worldkiller.  That was all she had. 

Find the Worldkiller, and _that_ would be the end. 

 

When the DEO uncovered the dark-net chat rooms where Coville’s followers had surfaced to boast about their latest exploits, Kara didn’t celebrate, though she did feel a warm thrum of accomplishment. 

One step closer. 

 

Vasquez was able to trace one of the users in the chat-room, and Kara flew ahead for the bust. 

The young man behind the laptop looked surprised to see her at first—but then he smiled and bowed to her.  Mockery. 

Kara kicked his teeth in. 

 

His name was Duncan.  Alex threw him into a cell for two reasons.

1) To protect him from Kara

& 2) For interrogation.

 

They kept him there for days.

 

He gave them nothing but gibberish.  Asked to see Supergirl—the _broken godlet_ , he called her. 

At night, he hummed a song of victory.  A chant;  _Worldkiller.  Worldkiller.  We are saved.  Worldkiller.  Rocks will melt and gods will fall.  Worldkiller.  Worldkiller.  We are saved._  

 

Out in the city, there were other attacks.  None on the scale of the L-Corp tragedy, but the signs were all there.  In blood. 

There were whispers of a new monster—like the one that had plagued the city before. 

A Worldkiller. 

 

Not everyone believed it. 

Local news stations and reputable magazines were careful to stick to the official police reports and DEO statements, the ones insisting that the bloody attacks were isolated incidents and the tragedy at L-Corp a perfectly reasonable ‘lab experiment gone wrong’ of epic proportions.  Every report checked the unknown box under suspicious elements recovered at the scene. 

 

But nationally, it was a different story.  A lot of outsiders were weighing in with their own speculations, painting the National City’s disasters in a new light—digging up old suspicions, old hatred. 

There were questions about L-Corp and the weapons they must have been making. 

About Lena Luthor and her anti-alien sentiments. 

 

The pieces began to fit together, for anyone paying attention. 

 

Alex and James were working overtime, trying to control the story—trying to keep the public from making the connection between fall of L-Corp and the smattering of Worldkiller attacks. 

 

And then, Duncan’s friends crept out from the shadows—and tweeted their thanks to L-Corp for their sacrifice, for their _help_ in ushering in the new age. 

_We couldn’t have done it without you. :)_

 

After that, all hell broke loose, and Alex couldn’t stop it, even if she wanted to. 

Some said the _monster_ must have heard that L-Corp had helped defeat Reign and had come out of hiding to get revenge. 

Others said it had attacked L-Corp to get at Supergirl, as it was known National City’s Luthor was on good terms with the Kryptonian. 

But there were some who pushed back against such claims—saying that it made more sense for Lena Luthor to _make_ the Worldkiller, seeing as she and Supergirl were enemies now. 

 _When did that happen?!_ the public demanded.

 

The president called to question Alex’s competence, wanting to know how things could have gotten so out of hand, so public.  Alex listened to the president’s every word, and then locked herself in the interrogation chamber with Duncan for 30 straight hours. 

He only chanted. 

And Alex was left screaming and crying in a broom closet, wishing Lena was there to tell the president to go to feckin’ hell.   

 

Under such a climate, fear took hold.  The city seemed on the brink of a new panic.  The public outcry grew louder every day, and the theories grew more and more convoluted.

 

Alex did her best to keep Kara away from it all.  She wasn’t sure how much more heartbreak her sister could take. 

 

But Kara was aware. 

Even if Alex thought she wasn’t. 

She had super-hearing, after all.  She knew what people were saying.  What they whispered. 

She _needed_ to know.  It fueled her rage. 

 

It had begun—the Worldkiller was tearing apart Lena’s good name.  And Kara would make it pay.  She _dreamed_ of that day. 

 

She knew it was coming.  Soon. 

 

Alex was running out of options.

 

Kara waited.

 

And waited.

 

Washington called, demanding the Worldkiller debacle be put to rest, as soon as possible.  _By whatever means necessary._

 

The death toll rose to 70.

 

Alex grew desperate. 

She let Kara in to see the prisoner.     

 

Kara didn’t dwell on pleasantries.  She threw the prisoner through a wall.

 

Duncan was more cooperative after that.  He told them where they had taken their savior, their perfect prize—their new Worldkiller.

 

Kara allowed a bloody smile.  One step closer. 


	13. Chapter 13

They hadn’t even left the city. 

That gave Kara a moment's pause--they hadn't even tried to run.

They had taken refuge in an old chapel.  Sacred ground.

When Kara arrived, moments after the address had dripped bloodied and splendid from Duncan’s lips, she found them popping champagne bottles.  Laughing.    

That was what jarred her most. 

 _Laughter_?

All that blood.  All that _violence_.  And they _laughed_?

Kara had given in to her anger, to her violence, but she hated it.  It served a purpose.  It was not _for fun._

Kara hadn’t laughed in what felt like years.  She couldn’t remember the taste.  Her life had become so much darker since she’d lost Lena’s faith.  She had been a fool to let the deception go on so long, Kara knew that now.  But she’d put off the truth for so long—it had lost its meaning.  It had become synonymous with betrayal.  She’d convinced herself that if she told Lena the truth, she’d lose her.  So she’d kept her identity a secret.    

And she’d lost Lena anyway. 

She’d been a selfish, cowardly fool. 

She would never forgive herself for that. 

_Lena, I didn’t tell you before—I’m sorry._

Kara didn’t bother waiting for Alex.  She was dealing with monsters, and she was too close now to let Alex reign her in.

Even if it burned her, even if it killed her—Kara embraced her rage. 

There were seven of them inside.

She entered the chapel with absolutely no oxygen in her lungs, no mercy in her heart.  She came like a shadow, eyes bloodshot and wild, every fiber of her being shaking with fury.

She passed by their robes, their pristine, white robes that had been hung on pegs near the front entrance the way other people might remove shoes or hats when coming to a holy place. 

Kara had a strong desire to set their uniforms of linen on fire.  End it all in flame.  That was the point, wasn’t it?  Eternal darkness could only begin after the worldflame burned out.  Someone just had to set the fire, and Kara was full of flame.   

She would have given in too, if she hadn’t heard the eighth heartbeat.    

 _The Worldkiller._  

One step closer.  She was _so close_ now! 

Kara decided almost coldly that she wouldn’t set fire to the chapel—it was sacred ground after all.

She left the robes untainted.  White as snow.   

There was a woman in the hallway, trying to bar Kara’s way.  The symbol on Kara’s chest didn’t seem to invoke reverence in her, instead the woman’s eyes widened in fear.  She held a talisman up to her lips and chanted, reaching out to Kara with fingers hooked like claws. 

Kara sidestepped her easily and blasted her with her freeze-breath.  Then she moved on to the kitchen where the others were gathered. 

They saw her and scattered; two rushing Kara, two others reaching for guns while the rest fled.  Kara ducked under the tackles from the unarmed men and then rushed one of the two pulling out a revolver.  She threw him unceremoniously into the woman trying to fire her pistol.  They struggled for a moment, tangled, and hands fumbled for their dropped weapons.  Kara lifted her boots and stepped down on fragile fingers, grinding all the little bones to dust. 

She wished they would have put up more of a fight.

The two runners started to come to, and they came at Kara again, urged onward by the howling of their friends.  Kara kicked one, hard, sending him into a cabinet that splintered open and released a torrent of carefully stored wine bottles.  The glass crashed to the floor, and soon they were all standing and writhing in a sea of blood-red wine.  The only monster still standing grabbed the neck of shattered glass and roared as he ran at Kara with it.  Kara squinted at the glass and slowly it began to melt under her x-ray vision.  Her would-be assailant slipped in the wine and dropped to his knees, screaming and clawing at the glass melting around his hand. 

Kara didn’t relent until he collapsed and all was quiet.  Mostly.  Coville’s followers were lying in heaps, groaning, but Kara could still hear the eighth heartbeat. 

Kara left the kitchen without a second thought. 

She had come for the Worldkiller, after all.  Everyone else had simply been in her way. 

One step closer.   

 


	14. Chapter 14

The sound of Kara's labored breathing shattered the quiet of the chapel.  Her chest was heaving, but not from the effort she’d exerted in the fight—it was from the effort it took not to fight _harder_.  

But she had held back—held onto her most intense rage because she was saving it for one thing, the _Worldkiller_.  It burned and seared beneath her skin, waiting.

Kara’s steps were sure as she made her way down to the basement—where the eighth heartbeat pounded sluggishly.  _Worldkiller._

She was so close--so close to the end.  So close to setting her anger free.  Her lips went dry.

Kara paused on the last stair—the Worldkiller was just beyond that door.  And judging on her relaxed heartrate—it was asleep. 

Kara’s fingers twitched, but she didn’t reach for the door.  She closed her eyes and forced out a deep breath—she leaned forward to press her forehead to the wooden door, needing some kind of anchor before memories took her down a dark road.  To the horror of L-Corp.  To the sites she had walked since then.  A hospital.  A construction site.  The water front.  So many people.  So many lives.  They had all fallen victim to this _thing_. 

The Worldkiller had destroyed _everything_.

It had killed Lena. 

Kara’s rage pulsed golden and molten and _painful_ in her veins.  If she held her breath, she could hear its heartbeat. 

It still sounded like Lena.  It was breathing with that same chirrup in her throat with every other breath that Lena had. 

For the first time in days, Kara felt her pulse pick up. 

How would it _know_ to mimic that?  Was it taunting Kara?  Was it dreaming? 

What if it woke up?

What if its eyes were green like Lena’s?

 _No_ —they wouldn’t be.  Reign’s eyes had been red as blood and Olivia’s had been an inferno of gold.  Worldkiller eyes were always glowing with empty hatred.  They wouldn’t be soft like Lena’s or even human.  There would be no recognition.  No fondness.  Nothing of Lena would remain.  All the green would have burned away.

A sob welled up in Kara’s throat and she choked it back, her fingers clenching in anger at herself. 

“Just don’t look at it.”  Kara told herself through gritted teeth.  She clenched the dagger and was relieved that the edges of the bone broke through her skin, giving her some pain to hold onto.  “It’s not her.” 

Lena was gone.  Dead.

There is only the Worldkiller.   

That thing beyond the door was a silhouette.  A shell. 

Lena was gone. 

But what if the Worldkiller spoke with Lena’s voice?  Kara panicked.  Rao, how would Kara be able to handle that? 

“It’s not her.”  Kara reminded herself more sternly, taking a deep, rattling breath.  “Lena’s gone.”  

Kara narrowed her eyes and pushed the door open with a snarl.  She floated over the threshold into the basement where cold seemed to live in each and every whitewashed cinderblock in the walls. 

There were strange shadows.  Misshapen furniture and stacks of crates. 

But Kara floated past it all. 

One step closer.

They had laid their Worldkiller upon some kind of altar at the back of the room.  Comfort was clearly not a priority.  In an effort to control her, they had chained her to the wall.  She was sprawled out, her everyday clothes replaced with a silky white robe with her hair splayed out all around her.  They hadn’t even given her a pillow.  She was bathed in a soft pool of light from a semi-circle of tea candles that had been lit around her.  They were violet in color and gave off a hazy lavender scent, which Kara thought was _really_ unfair. 

Flowers had always been a special language between Lena and Kara. 

And now the Coville cult had ruined it.

Kara gazed down at the Worldkiller in Lena’s body and the rage in her blood flared, because that human weakness in her own heart was so hard to kill.  She was filled with doubts that crashed over her in waves, trying to douse the molten resolve that had gotten her this far. 

_I can’t do it—I loved her.  I can’t.  It looks so much like her.  Someone else will have to do it, I can’t—Lena, I’m sorry.  I can’t do it.  I loved you, but I can’t—_

The Worldkiller stirred groggily and Kara thought for one frightening moment that she saw a flash of green—that the Worldkiller was going to make this so much harder than it had to be.  Kara tore her eyes away and focused on the mural on the back wall—it was a yellow sun peeking over clouds. 

_It’s not her._

It spoke, as if it could sense Kara’s hesitation and was testing her resolve. 

“Kara?” 

Kara’s breathing was ragged, her broken lungs only giving her enough lavender scented air to keep the room from spinning.  Her senses were stretched too thin, Kara knew that.  There were no more steps to take and she was a little dizzy, faltering before the end. 

The Worldkiller was trying to fight back.  But Kara wouldn’t give in. 

She would have to be strong—for Lena. 

_I will always protect you._

“Close your eyes.”  Kara pleaded in a quiet but determined whisper as she raised the dagger high, her shadow dimming the brightness of the painted sun. 

There was a gentle rustling as the Worldkiller nodded sleepily, “Mmkay.”

Kara tensed—this was not ceremonial.  It was vengeance, hollow justice. 

She didn’t savor the moment—she brought the knife down with all her might. 

 

Kara gritted her teeth, not daring to breathe, and waited for the recoil—for the lash back. 

 

But it didn’t come. 

 

It took Kara several minutes to grow accustomed to the silence that had fallen over the room. 

Her own heartbeat was deafening. 

Her blood was still boiling. 

But everything else was still. 

There was not even the flicker of flame to distract.    

 

Kara slowly lowered her eyes. 

The Worldkiller looked just as peaceful as before, even with the dagger in its chest.  Its lips had parted and there was a thin trail of blood oozing from the mouth.

_I did it._

 

A flash or a chill, or something of the like flooded Kara’s aching and burning body, giving her the strength to flex her sticky, bloody fingers and let go of the handle.  She felt dizzy.  Unsteady.  She finally allowed herself to breathe as she staggered back away from the altar, blinking rapidly at the Worldkiller. 

The Worldkiller hadn’t cried out.  It hadn’t screamed or gasped or clawed for breath. 

It had come into this world with a violence that left the city in mourning and broken the girl who had already lost everything—but it left without a sound.  

Kara had stopped its heart. 

_It was over.  Ended._

Kara took another sharp breath, unable to hold onto that fleeting sense of accomplishment for long. 

The Worldkiller was gone, and all that was left was Lena’s body.  And Kara’s anger was finally starting to abate—and just like steel, as her bones lost the heat, they grew weak.  Kara could feel her whole body going weak, overshadowed by her grief. 

“Lena.”  Kara whispered in the unearthly quiet. 

She stepped back up to the altar, drawn by a force too powerful to name. 

She couldn’t cry.  Everything still felt too unreal—too vivid and far away for her to break with tears. 

Kara reached out with a trembling hand to touch Lena’s cheek.

It was still warm. 

 

The room around Kara seemed to spin, her world once again imploding—as time seemed to bend, to fracture.  To break. 

A piece of it came back to Kara quite suddenly—one that had absolutely nothing to do with Lena, and at the same time absolutely everything.  It was a memory from high school, tarnished and indistinct because it wasn’t a memory exactly—it was words.  A scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ , the Shakespearean play she’d been forced to read her Junior year. 

Kara had hated the play.  She’d struggled with the language.  She’d struggled with the concept, with the entire setup.  She had found it all a little difficult to believe, of course, especially when she’d considered that the entire thing could have been avoided with a little diplomacy between the houses and a bit more maturity from the titular characters.  She’d blamed Romeo.  Romeo and his stupid ego.  _I defy you stars?_   Who says that?! 

Kara had found it all a little ridiculous. 

Alex, on the other hand, had loved that play, especially all the sword fighting and gore. 

But Kara had approached it with skepticism and rolled her eyes when their English teacher forced them to watch a grainy old VHS of a film adaptation.  Kara had never thought the play was beautiful.

And she’d never thought of it again since they’d moved on to _Hamlet_.     

But for some reason, in this moment, standing over Lena’s body in the chapel, with her hand pressed to Lena’s cheek that was still deceitfully warm and rosy—Kara was reminded of Romeo’s anguish in the tomb.   _Why art thou yet so fair?!_  

Kara’s eyes widened.   

Kara was no Romeo.  And Lena was definitely no Juliet.  For one thing, Lena would never have trusted a potion from any old apothecary, she probably would have made it herself.  And for another, Lena would never have let something as ridiculous as a family feud control her life.  She would have found a way to fix it.  Turn Verona upside down if she had to.  Because she was a fighter.  Kara was sure of it. 

Words that Kara had scoffed at came flooding back to her memory, knocking all of the breath out of her as they struck a chord deep in her soul.  The stupid, clunky Shakespeare wasn’t exactly soothing to the lingering aches and burns beneath her flesh, but somehow the words helped, helped her to _feel_ what she could not articulate. 

Kara’s lips twitched.

Carefully, tenderly, Kara let her hand slip back to Lena’s neck and she lifted her head ever-so-gently, afraid that at any moment time would fracture again and she would break into new pieces. 

As Kara leaned over Lena, to press her trembling lips to the temple of the woman she had loved, Kara _finally_ understood why Romeo’s final words had been, _Thus with a kiss I die._  


	15. Chapter 15

When Alex arrived, she was surprised to find the chapel still standing—she had been psyching herself up on the ride over, trying to prepare for the absolute desolation she was sure she would find. 

But the building was unharmed. 

The cult members however—they were another story.  Alex heard them groaning and complaining, but she didn’t bother going to check on them.  She told them to shut up and made her way down to the basement, her throat going dry pre-emptively. 

She found Kara still cradling Lena, and the sight was a shock even if she had tried to prepare for it—nothing could have prepared her to see her friend lifeless and limp.  Her skin ashen and so _cold_.  And Kara?  Kara looked dazed, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. 

Alex knew the feeling.

Alex swallowed thickly, despair washing through her with a cruelty that left her unsteady on her own feet.  She wobbled, but somehow made it across the threshold.  Her boots sounded loudly on the cement floors, the steady rhythm breaking something sacred.  Some secret that only Kara would ever know. 

Alex knew better than to try to separate Kara from Lena.  She carefully took the bloodstained dagger from Kara’s limp fingers and then sat beside her sister.

She didn’t comment on the blood red wine soaking into the chapel carpets.  Or lecture Kara about using the bad guys as punching bags—there was a part of Alex that cheered at what Kara had done, a part of her that was glad Kara had gotten there first, because if Alex had—those bastards wouldn’t be breathing.  She knew Kara had restrained herself as best she could—she could see it in the way Kara’s hands still shook.  There was _so much_ still inside her—entire hurricanes in her blood. 

“I’m so sorry.”  Alex murmured.  She reached out to touch Lena’s hair, but then couldn’t bring herself to do it.  It wasn’t the same. 

And she knew it would never be the same again. 

She curled her fingers back and retracted her hand, a sob finally wrenching free from deep in her chest.

Kara finally lifted her head, but only stared blankly at her sister.  Her eyes were glassy, her cheeks had acquired a permanent red and puffy stain.  And her nose was crusty. 

“I loved her, Alex.”  Kara finally admitted aloud.  She whispered it hoarsely, but in the chapel it seemed to linger. 

Alex nodded, closing her eyes. 

She almost said, “ _We all did_.”  Because they all had, in their own way.  Lena was so easy to love. 

But she knew that’s not what Kara had meant.

“She knew.”  Alex said instead. 

Kara flinched, pulling Lena’s body even closer.  Lena’s head lolled back, exposing her pale neck.  Alex almost reached out to support her head, but she was afraid to touch her.  She wanted to remember Lena smiling.  Alive.  Vibrant. 

Not like this. 

“You think so?”  Kara asked.  She grasped at the thought—it was fickle and fleeting, even smaller and slipperier than Hope had been, but it was the only thing that might alleviate some of the pain in her chest.  The Shakespeare had left her long ago, fading into bitter memory.  Just one more thing to haunt her nightmares.  It had left her to reality.  To the harshness of _now_.  Where she was alone with her heartbreak that had no eloquence to it, just jagged edges.  Her grief was not poetic or beautiful.  It was ugly.  And it hurt. 

It hurt _so much_.

Alex could see how desperate Kara was.  She swallowed dryly and nodded. 

Kara’s lips trembled.  She leaned into Alex and cried—the pain didn’t go away. 

Alex held Kara against her and stroked her hair.  It could have been minutes, or it might have stretched to hours.  Alex didn’t know.  She held Kara until she cried herself to sleep.  Only then did she let the others into the room to take the body—to take _Lena_ away.  She handed the dagger over to another agent to be cleaned and returned to its place of dishonor. 

She knew the hard part was only beginning.

Alex carried Kara out of the chapel herself.


	16. Chapter 16

Much of what happened after that was a blur. 

Kara faded in and out of time.  Remembering and Forgetting alternatively. 

She remembered that Lena had once told her after several glasses of wine that she wanted to be cremated, that she hated the thought of being trapped in the Luthor mausoleum with all those disapproving Luthor eyes glaring at her for all eternity—no, she wanted to be burned down to ash and then scattered.  Maybe a speck of her would make its way to her real mother, to her grave out there in some obscure corner of the world, and find rest with her.  And maybe, just _maybe_ , a bit of her would get caught in the back of Lillian’s throat and make her choke—Lena had laughed at that, her whole face scrunching up in that adorable way she had while Kara sputtered and coughed and tried to be sneaky as she poured the rest of the wine down the sink when Lena wasn’t looking.  Which of course had made Lena pout, and then promptly fall asleep.  Using Kara for a pillow, of course. 

It was a happy memory.

Kara chose to forget others.

Like their fight over kryptonite—it had seemed _so impossible_ at the time.  Kara _couldn’t_ budge and Lena _wouldn’t_ budge.  They were both so stubborn.  Both believing they were so _righteous_ , even if neither of them were completely honest.

_I thought you’d be grateful—_

_Grateful that you figured out how to make the one thing on this planet that can kill me?_

_You really do have a god complex._

But now—Kara forgot why she had been so vehement.  Why she’d been so _against_ Lena having kryptonite.  What did it matter?!  She’d rather Lena had a mountain of kryptonite than not have her at all.

 _Thousands of things can kill me, Supergirl._ Lena had said.  And the memory tore Kara up inside until she smothered it and pushed it away. 

Lena had been right, of course.  She’d only been human, after all.  There were thousands of things on this planet that could kill her—but it had only taken one.  And it hadn’t come from earth. 

Kara forgot why she was supposed to love Krypton.  It had killed her best friend.   

She forgot why she should be a hero.  Why she should care about anyone else’s pain outside of her own.  Hers seemed to take all of her energy.  It gnawed at her until she was raw and bleeding from a wound in her very soul. 

The stories had been wrong. 

 _Shakespeare_ had been wrong.  It wasn’t _love_ that transcended time and space—it was _pain_.  Always _pain_.  

She forgot to answer the phone when James called.  She knew what he wanted.  She hadn’t been to Catco, but he had tried to get it from her all the same.  He’d called often in the days, no—the _eternities_ that had ebbed and flowed since the chapel.  But Kara had forgotten to listen to the messages.  Forgotten to call back.    

She could let James cut the truth into pieces, tell the world that Lena had been a victim of the explosion, her body identified late due to her proximity to the center of the blast.  She could let the world believe that Lena had fallen victim to her own science, to her _stupid_ protocols and regulations.  It was necessary to protect Lena’s legacy.  It was a way to _honor_ the truth without telling it.  And Kara could live with the burden of keeping the Worldkiller secret to herself, of protecting that heart-wrenching detail.

But she _could not_ look into James’s eyes and recount her final moments with Lena.  Not even under the pretense of getting the scoop on the Worldkiller’s demise from the hero who had killed it.  She _couldn’t_. 

And Kara was in too much pain to really care if she was being selfish.  She just couldn’t share that memory with anyone else.  It felt too terrible.  A nightmare she wanted to forget, but surrendered to gladly.  It was too intimate.  A wound she kept reopening, no matter how much it hurt, just to be with Lena for a little while longer.

The pain was all she had left to remind her she was alive.   

Kara forgot to turn off the lights when she finally crawled into bed.  She’d forgotten to take off her supersuit, so she got dust and grime all over the sheets, but she didn’t care.  She didn’t see the point in keeping up appearances anymore.  The only one who had believed wholeheartedly in Kara Danvers alone was dead.

And Kara was sure that some small piece of herself had died with her. 

Alex flipped the lights off when she got home.  She curled up under the blankets beside Kara and held her close. 

She flipped the pillow over so Kara could rest her head on the dry side. 


	17. Chapter 17

Every night since the chapel, Alex had spent with her sister, trying to comfort her even if all she could do was hold her while she cried and whisper, “I know.  I know, Kara, I know.”  Even when she didn’t know.

Kara had lost more than Alex could fathom—and it broke her heart. 

She hardly had time to grieve for Lena herself when she was so busy grieving for Kara.  She had been so caught up in trying to stay in control, to protect the public and stop up the spread of fear, with taking care of Kara, shielding her little sister from the whispers and snide remarks that were abundant even in the halls of the DEO, that she had completely forgotten that the president had scheduled a visit. 

Alex barely managed to strike an attentive pose when the head of state appeared with her entourage. 

“I do hope I’m not interrupting.”  President Marsdin rasped, eyeing the poor state of the officers standing before Alex.  They all stood awkwardly—disgruntled and out of line.

“Of course not—Madam President.  We were just—I was tackling a disciplinary issue.”  Alex stammered.  There was an ache in her bones that made it difficult for her to keep her shoulders back as proudly as she used to. 

“I see.”  The president’s lips twitched down into a slight frown, “Is it related to the Worldkiller _catastrophe_?” 

Alex flinched.  That’s what they were calling it now.  That’s what it boiled down to.  Monsters and Catastrophes. 

“Yes, Madam President.”  A rather indignant agent broke ranks to step closer, to brush by a startled Alex to address their true leader—the only one unbiased in the matter.  “ _Everything_ is related to the incident.”

“Jensen’s right.”  A female agent stepped forward to back up her colleague.  “The city’s trying to move on, but this—this _mess_ has gotten far bigger than I think the Director is willing to admit.”

“Is that so?”  The president asked, bemused. 

“Madam President, I think if you could urge Director Danvers to reconsider—”  Jensen began.  His voice was smooth and his smile disarming. 

“No.”  Alex growled, though she was hardly heeded.  She closed her eyes as the whispers started again—only this time, they weren’t whispered.  They were spoken, practically _shouted_ for the highest authority in the land to consider.   

“The severity of the situation has been greatly downplayed…”

“To prevent a panic?”

“Yes, but now we are experiencing unforeseen consequences…”

“—the public has a right to know, don’t they?”

“—I’m sorry she’s dead.  I am.  Really.”

“—But _she_ brought this on herself.  She _made_ that thing.”

“She what?!  I need your assurances that this won’t happen again.”

“—that’s just it, Madam President.  We can’t make any such promises.  We need to use Ms. Luthor as an example, to send a warning.  This organization has suffered enough under the burden of her secrets—I think it’s time we told the rest of the world the truth.”

Alex sighed, glad that Kara wasn’t here to witness this fear mongering.  Because that was what had gripped the DEO in recent days.  Fear.  Even worse than when Reign had appeared on the scene.  This was different—this wasn’t a threat from the stars.  This time it was home-grown.  If Lena could do it—maybe someone else could. 

“—and now the city’s talking about a memorial.”

“—and they have _no idea_.”

“—are we really going to just stand by and let Catco and the other news outlets paint Lena Luthor as some kind of tragic hero when we all know—"

“Director Danvers.”  The words called for silence and the twitterings of the agents ceased. 

Alex lifted her eyes, her heart clenching painfully. 

“Do you have anything to add?”  The president inquired. 

Alex took a deep breath and nodded,

“Yes, Madam President, I—I do have something I want to make perfectly clear.” 

President Marsdin raised an eyebrow but gestured for Alex to take the floor all the same. 

Alex finally managed to find an ember of strength hidden somewhere in her chest and she squared her shoulders and glared about the room.  There was a new hardness to her eyes that hadn’t gone away since the day L-Corp fell. 

“Lena Luthor and L-Corp…they have _always_ been our ally.”

The ache in Alex’s bones had moved to her heart and her entire chest seemed to cave a little as she remembered that phrase that Lena always used—the one that seemed to embody her future with L-Corp in four simple words, _How can I help?_

“I know some of you may believe those rumors that Ms. Luthor was hording anti-alien weapons in L-Corp’s vaults.”  Alex went on, taking small steps so she could walk down the line of her agents and glare them into submission—it was a dance they had played every morning since the battle had been won—since the lies had begun.  “Some of you may even still be harboring delusions that Ms. Luthor was a Cadmus agent like her mother, or worse, had it out for Supergirl like her brother.  But however you felt about Ms. Luthor in the past—I _never again_ want to hear one of _my_ agents suggest that she was somehow to blame for this tragedy.  Not when you—highly trained _professionals_ —are in possession of facts that distinctly _refute_ those ludicrous assumptions.”

Alex paused at the end of the line to look down her nose at Jensen until he finally bowed his head. 

“Now, it was no secret that Ms. Luthor wasn’t particularly fond of the DEO.  But if we’re being perfectly honest—you can’t really blame her.  This organization has always had a pretty tenuous relationship with outsiders.  And we can hide behind policy and practical vigilance all we like, but the truth is that we did not foster a very healthy environment for any type of collaboration.  But beyond all that, there was a _reason_ Miss Luthor was so secretive with her work,” 

Alex paused, needing to gather herself, “and it _wasn’t_ to spite us.  She kept her work secret because she was afraid it would fall into the wrong hands, that her tech would be used for ill rather than good.  _Everyone here_ should be able to relate—we _have weapons here_ that have fallen into the wrong hands before, and they _have_ caused mayhem.”

Alex had to take another sharp breath.  She kept her face stony, but inside that ember was slowly starting to fizzle out.  Any moment now, she’d lose it.  She was sure of it.  It was a pattern.  She had yet to go more than a few hours a day without crying.  It was still so raw, so— _inexplicable_.  The fact that Lena was dead.  And trying to be strong in front of everyone—in front of Kara—trying to hide how much the death of their friend was destroying her inside—it was starting to wear her down. 

Little by little. 

Alex sighed and shook her head, squinting her eyes against the brightness of the fluorescent lighting. 

“ _That’s_ why we’re still “meddling” Vasquez.  _That’s_ why we’re doing all we can to protect L-Corp’s good name, Jensen.  We _know_ what it’s like.  We _know_ exactly how it feels to be overpowered and used against our will.  To have experiments go too far—or completely wrong.” 

Alex lifted her brown eyes, searching the faces of her agents to see if she needed to spell it out any further—to mention Myriad.  And Cadmus—their dark shadow.  Or any number of DEO items that had been taken over the last year or so to cause problems in the city.  But the room had gone quiet.  And Alex could see that her agents were listening—were starting to understand. 

She sighed again and brushed her hair out of her eyes before she snapped an about-face so she could look her president in the eye once again, lower her voice to calmer, firmer tones. 

“Madam President, we know, without any doubt, that Lena Luthor _did not_ give her body willingly to the Worldkiller.  Nor did she intend for her work to be seized and then abused by Coville’s followers.  And despite her dislike of our organization, when the time came Miss Luthor was able to push aside her personal feelings to work with us.  She trusted that we would use her knowledge and resources for the greater good of this planet and everyone who lives on it.  All I ask is that you allow me to _honor that trust_.  This city has a history of jumping to conclusions where Ms. Luthor is concerned, of painting Lena as evil and criminal before all the facts are in.  But _we_ know the facts.  _We know_ that she never intended to hurt anyone, and I am certain, that she would be devastated if she had lived to see these dark days.” 

The president seemed to consider for a moment, and her secret servicemen fidgeted behind her.

“You make a compelling argument, Director Danvers.”  The president finally said with the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. 

“And I must admit, I have never been one to advocate for full transparency.”  As the president spoke, she extended her arm and allowed her true alien flesh to show for the briefest of instants.

“President Marsdin—”  One of the president’s security men stepped up on the president’s left, his face stoic and scarred.  “This meeting should have concluded five minutes ago.  You are needed at City Hall.” 

“Oh, of course.”  The President sighed and straightened her blazer.  She caught Alex’s eye and smiled once again as she nodded in her direction. 

“I will leave this matter to you then, Director Danvers.  And I will stand by whatever decisions you make regarding the dissemination of facts pertaining to the Fifth Worldkiller.  You have my support.”

Alex closed her eyes and exhaled, doing her best to ignore the disgruntled huffs of the agents behind her.  She was startled to feel a hand on her shoulder and she blinked up into the president’s gentle eyes. 

“And…you have my condolences.”

Alex swallowed thickly. 

“Thank you, Madam President.” 

The president nodded and squeezed Alex’s shoulder before she was whisked away by her security team. 

The silence had been shattered, though, and the agents behind Alex had broken formation to clump together and complain.  Alex took a sharp breath and turned on her heel, fixing her agents with a glare as she clapped her hands once to get their attention.

“Just in case you were wondering,” Alex seethed, her brown eyes narrowed particularly at Jensen, “My stance is unchanged.  We _are not_ going to release the particulars of this incident to the public.  We are, however, going to honor our working relationship with L-Corp.  Because you all know as well as I that L-Corp wasn’t just a place—it _meant_ something to the people of this city.  Lena made it into something, a promise, an ideal—whatever you want to call it and people _believed_ in it.  It gave them hope.  And that’s something we’re in short supply of at the moment.” 

There were several grumblings, but Alex spoke above them.  

“So, regardless of how you felt about Ms. Luthor, I expect you all to be out in force on the evening of the L-Corp memorial, whenever that may be.  Plain clothes, formal.  Anyone who has a problem with that may as well hand over their badge.”

Alex waited for her agents to fling their badges at her—she could tell that at least two certainly wanted to.  But no one moved.  She dared to release the breath she’d been holding. 

“Very well then…Dismissed.” 

Alex stood her ground as her agents scuttled and skulked and tried to avoid making direct eye contact with her on their way out of the conference room.  One, however, practically skipped over to Alex’s side. 

“Wow—that was really something.  I didn’t know you were such a Lena Luthor fan, Alex.”  Vasquez drawled. 

Alex ran a hand through her hair and turned away from the now empty room—she suddenly felt as if she’d been run over by a bulldozer—no anger or strength left in any portion of her body.

“I’m a fan of anyone who makes Kara happy.”  Alex replied numbly as she pushed out into the hallway. 

It was a short answer of course.

Alex had _warmed_ to Lena because of the woman’s friendship with Kara—the way she made Kara smile—but she’d always admired her drive.  Her work ethic.  She’d developed a friendship with Lena on her own over time—and she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about it because it had begun right at the moment Lena and Kara, as Supergirl, had started their little rift.  It had been Kara who had always insisted that Lena had a heart of gold, and Alex had mostly just gone along until she’d gotten the opportunity to spend time with Lena herself—a phenomenon that had been the direct result of Lena refusing to work directly with Supergirl anymore.  Instead, she’d said she would settle for Alex—and it had gone on for months.   

Alex didn’t begrudge her friendship with Lena.  Not in the slightest.  She cherished it, actually.  She remembered thinking, one night late in the lab while she and Lena went over notes on an image inducer model they were working on and wrote cheesy chemistry jokes to each other on the whiteboard, that she wished they had gotten to this point sooner.  That she had known Lena was such a nerd.  That she was always willing to help—that they worked so well together. 

It had been Lena who had made Alex remember how much she enjoyed working in the lab—after Winn had left, she’d just lost all interest.  But Lena hadn’t let her forget her passion.  She’d pushed into the DEO—when Supergirl had been off-world (again)—with a case in hand and a determined look on her face.  She’d insisted that she needed Alex’s opinion on a project and had practically dragged Alex into the DEO lab and forced her to peer down the microscope. 

Alex wasn’t sure why she’d never really told Kara about those moments.  Why she had felt the need to keep them secret. 

Now she wished she and Lena could have become friends with Kara still part of the equation.  It pained her to know that Kara still felt so guilty about the months of silence that had built up in opposition to her open affection for Lena—that her little sister had so many sour memories to tarnish the good she had with her best friend. 

“Speaking of—where is Kara?”  Vasquez asked, turning her head to glance around the lively bullpen where Supergirl was nowhere to be seen. 

“She’s been helping with the cleanup over on Cordova.  She said it helps her to stay busy.”  Alex mumbled off-handedly as she tried to log-in to one of the nearby computers—she was always forgetting the passwords.

“It’s still a mess over there—I was with them when they drove Eve home and we passed through—the poor thing nearly had a heart attack.”  Vasquez muttered as she bumped Alex out of the way so she could log-in for her boss. 

“What?  Supergirl’s not over there today—didn’t she tell you?”  A rather squirrely looking agent piped up from beyond Alex’s periphery. 

Alex frowned and stiffened; her eye twitched. 

“What do you mean?”  Alex demanded. 

The rookie fidgeted and glanced away, hoping to avoid getting pummeled. 

“Well—she took off about an hour ago.  I-I thought she’d cleared it with you.” 

“Cleared _what_ with me?”  Alex snapped.

The rookie’s eyes widened in fear and he gulped. 

“I—well, everyone was talking about the unfairness of your orders, but I don’t think it’s unfair.  No, ma’am, I think it’s important to keep certain secrets—”

“Morawski!”  Vasquez barked before Alex had the chance.  “Get to the point!” 

“Right!”  The rookie stammered.  He was sweating bullets. 

“Well, there was a lot of talk in the pen, and well—Su-Supergirl said she agreed.”

“ _What?!_ ”  Alex felt like she’d been kicked in the chest. 

Kara had been going on and on _for days_ about ‘protecting Lena’s legacy’.  It was what she gasped about between sobs, what she mumbled as she drifted from the couch to the kitchen and back—well, that and some kind of made up language that sounded strangely like Kryptonese and Shakespeare all meshed together, but that was beside the point—Lena and her legacy of good, that was _all_ she talked about!

And Alex had—Alex had taken it to heart.  Had stood up to give a grand speech _, in front of the president_ , to make sure that _everyone_ in the DEO knew that they were _honoring Lena_.  It was Alex’s way of trying to make Kara’s world a little less broken.  Of soothing that ache she had in her own chest, just for a little while.    

“Supergirl said she agreed with you, Director Danvers, Ma’am, but that there was someone else who deserved to know the truth.”  The rookie tried to get out in one breath. 

“Someone else?”  Vasquez questioned.  She turned to look at Alex.  “Do you have any idea who she could mean.” 

Alex had gone slightly pale and she worked her jaw, the realization making her wish she had thought to send chaperones with their wounded hero—to make sure she didn’t do something _stupid_ like this. 

“Fucking hell—she’s going to see Lillian.” 


	18. Chapter 18

Kara had _tried_ to stay focused as she worked along the construction crews that morning.    

She’d known it was important to do right by the city, to help clear the debris—to clean up the Worldkiller’s mess and make room for something else.  Something new.

And deep down, she’d needed this.  She needed to feel useful.

Needed somewhere to put her mind, somewhere other than those nightmarish memories.

But tearing down L-Corp, tearing down Lena’s company—her pride and joy—it seemed a disservice in a way.  A _betrayal_ even. 

And Kara couldn’t bring herself to do it.  She couldn't stay.  Not there. 

So she’d gone back to the DEO.  Where else could she go?  Everywhere else was tainted.

The city was grateful.  The city was celebrating.

 _The monster was dead_ , they seemed to shout.  _The hero has won._

But Kara didn’t feel heroic. 

Now that the Worldkiller was dead, Kara was left feeling—unfulfilled.  Empty. 

So terribly _empty_. 

Everyone else was moving on, but Kara was stuck—stuck in a grief that left her numb to the effects of time.  Stuck punching her way up and down Cordova until she was gasping on what was left of the Harun-el dust.  Stuck playing the hero because she couldn’t bring herself to take off her suit.  She had no right to pretend she’d been anything other than just another person who’d let Lena down.

And _that_ realization is what drove her to the National City Women’s Penitentiary.

_And what’re you to my daughter?_

There was _someone else_ out there.  Someone else who had both loved and betrayed Lena, the way Kara had.

No one else would understand. 

There had been a time, _centuries ago_ , when Winn might’ve offered to go with her.  Maybe James too.  And Alex—Alex would’ve said it was a bad idea.  But Kara knew she had to do this alone.      

She had always had a— _difficult_ and complicated relationship with Lillian.  But in the end the one thing they had in common was Lena—and somehow she couldn’t let anyone else get in the way of that. 

So she told no one. 

But stepping out of the DEO—she felt out of practice.  Even snug in her suit, Kara couldn’t quite strike the right super pose anymore, or summon her facing-off-against-bad-guys face.  It was as if she’d lost her hero spirit, forgotten how to be strong. 

When Kara arrived at the prison, the warden seemed rather surprised to see her, but after a few phone calls and some angry words exchanged through the partition glass, Kara was told that a meeting could be arranged if she could be patient. 

Kara simply nodded and paced in the reception hall.

Her boots resounded on the cement floors, and it seemed _too loud_.  But she didn’t stop pacing.  

She had been living in a kind of fog since the chapel—when she did feel present in her own body and _now_ rather than lost in a blur, she was having to learn how to walk, how to breathe, how to _be_ without Lena in her life. 

It was difficult. 

She didn’t have a lot of strength left, and she was jealous that Alex seemed to have it in spades.  That anger that Kara had felt before—the anger that had given her the strength to kill the Worldkiller, it seemed to have vanished. 

And she was left feeling like only half of herself. 

Lena had not known Kara’s true identity, that was true, but she had been a crucial aspect of Kara Danvers’s development.  It was Lena who reminded Kara that it was okay to be human.  To stop worrying about the fate of the world for a few minutes and talk about boy bands and the best way to cook potstickers.  But now all of that was gone.

Now all she had to keep her sane was the pain and the nightmares and Alex.  Which was sufficient, most of the time, but the rest—

Kara lifted her head when the door opened. 

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, trying to ignore the enormity of the task before her that was suddenly sneering her in the face—

“Lillian.” 

Despite her precautions, Kara’s voice trembled and she ran out of breath before she even finished saying Lillian’s name.  She tried to make up for it by lifting her chin, but seeing Lillian in her orange jumpsuit seemed to shatter her resolve—her shoulders drooped.

“Well, well, well—if it isn’t the Girl of Steel.”  Lillian sneered as she was led into the room.  “You look terrible.” 

She would have much rather preferred to see Lena.  Her daughter was due for a visit any day now.  Not that Lillian had fallen into the trap of keeping to a schedule or anything like that.  She abhorred that aspect of life in lockup.  The monotony.  The _sameness_ —the same broken system dictating _every minute_ of her life, including her visits.  They were restricted.  Shortened and carefully monitored. 

They were also the only refreshing element that cropped up in Lillian’s routine every second Friday of the month. 

Not that Lillian had started to look forward to it or anything. 

“Mrs. Luthor.”  Kara tried a different approach, falling out of her stiff hero pose.  It felt unnatural in this setting.  She suddenly wished she had worn something else— _anything else_. 

She cleared her throat and gestured weakly toward the table.  “Please take a seat.” 

Lillian rolled her blue eyes as she was prodded forward by the guard.  It wasn’t as if it was in her power to refuse the Kryptonian’s request. 

“Lillian, I…there’s something I need to tell you—”  Kara began, but then she paused and tilted her head to the side.  “Are those really necessary?”

Kara pointed to the manacles that were currently being tightened around Lillian’s wrists, bolting her to the floor. 

The guard looked startled, as if he had never been asked such a thing before, and paused with the key clenched in his left hand.  He suddenly looked unsure what to do with it. 

“Of course they’re necessary.”  Lillian hissed indignantly, working her jaw. 

She was insulted that she wasn’t considered more of a threat. 

“Actually, if you don’t mind—I’d like to talk to Mrs. Luthor alone.”  Kara continued her conversation with the guard, ignoring the glares Lillian was aiming at her.  “Would you mind—waiting outside?”

“Now wait just a minute.”  Lillian fumed, her jaw clenching. 

“Actually Miss—ah, Supergirl, Ma’am.  We’re not supposed to—”

“Please.”  Kara asked simply. 

Nothing was spinning now.  Time seemed to have jammed to a halt and she could feel herself in this moment—Lillian was looking at her so expectantly, even if she was sneering a little as she did.

“Stay where you are, Steven.”  Lillian growled, her fingers curling into fists. “You can’t just waltz in here and—”

“You’re sure you’ll be alright?”  The guard asked, clearly won over by Kara’s pained expression. 

Kara nodded, swallowing thickly. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

The guard nodded and pocketed the key, leaving Lillian’s chains unlocked.

“I’ll be just outside the door if you need me.”  He promised.  He adjusted his belt before turning to go. 

“Steven!  Wait—stop where you are!”  Lillian sounded more confused than upset as she twisted in her uncomfortable chair to watch the guard cross the room and step through the door without even once showing any hesitation.  Then she turned slowly back around to gaze at the world-weary Kara Danvers in her tacky cape and glory. 

Lillian sighed, composing herself as she took a sharp breath through her nostrils and flicked her wrists to shirk off the useless manacles.  She lifted her blue eyes to Kara again and raised an eyebrow. 

“So, what seems to be the trouble, _Kara?_ ”  She spat out the name.  “They don’t usually let us receive visitors so late.  You must _need_ something.” 

Kara took a shuddering breath—she suddenly had no idea how to begin.    

The longer she stared into Lillian’s cold eyes, the longer she was exposed to that Luthor contempt—the more she remembered.  And it was the things she’d rather forget—

That Lena had looked at her just like that so many times—not at Kara, exactly, but at Supergirl.  With that same aloofness.  

That the last few months had been so strained—that Kara had felt so alone.

That she’d been tired.  So _tired_ of the charade, she just couldn’t seem to find a way out. 

That when Kara had gotten that call about a disturbance at L-Corp, she’d asked “ _What’s she done now?_ ” Kara wished, with every fiber of her being, that she could forget that moment forever—that she could forget that she had been so worn down that she hadn’t flown to L-Corp as fast as she could have, that she hadn’t been as worried as she should have been—her best friend had died, and already been taken by the Worldkiller, and Kara had hung back.  She’d been _so dreading_ the encounter that she’d flown leisurely.  That was what made Kara so sick—the moment she’d taken her best friend for granted, that was when she’d lost her. 

And she would never get to apologize for that. 

“I’m sorry.”  Kara stammered. 

Her cheeks were splotchy and she lifted her eyes to the ceiling, gasping as she tried to remember how to breathe with that burning lump in her throat, tried to fight back a wave of stinging tears. 

“I’m sorry, I—I thought I could—I told myself it had to be me, but now that I’m here, I don’t—I’m not sure if—” 

Lillian eyed the super with a frown slowly tainting her stoic expression.  She didn’t like the look in Kara’s eyes—the helplessness there.  The desperation.  It unnerved her. 

She was starting to think she’d rather not hear whatever it was Kara Danvers had come to say. 

Lillian had faced the hero many times.  She had never seen the Girl of Steel look so defeated, so broken down, so— _human_.  As if she wasn’t just fragile—it was as if she’d already been broken.

And Lillian had drained the girl’s powers before—she knew what a broken Kara Danvers looked like.

“You’re forgiven.”  Lillian said slowly—succinct and measured. 

Kara was so startled—her mouth dropped open before she’d managed to think of a sufficient response.

“Wha-what?”

Lillian rolled her eyes and stood rather suddenly. 

“You said you’re sorry—and I forgive you.  For _wasting my time_.  You can go.”  Lillian turned away from the Kryptonian and the new sense of dread she had brought in with her. 

Lillian stomped stiffly over to the exit door and pounded on it with her fist,    

“Guard.”  Lillian was impatient to get away from her unwanted visitor and whatever ill news she brought with them. 

“Lillian, wait.”  Kara half-rose from her chair—she was falling back into the fog, only processing things in stops and starts, in forgetting and remembering—in moments.  This was the moment she was supposed to tell Lillian that Lena was dead—but she’d forgotten how often she froze up in the face of that Luthor malice. 

“Don’t grovel, Kara, it’s beneath you.”  Lillian sneered as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the door, waiting for the guard to return and save her from the desperate hero. 

“But I—"

“ _I_ have better things to do with my Saturday than listen to you moan about how difficult your life is.”  Lillian snapped—it was a defense mechanism, her hostility.  And in her panic she couldn’t even make it sound convincing. 

Kara took a sharp breath—she wasn’t sure why, but the words felt like a punch.

“It’s Saturday?”  Kara asked, dazed. 

Saturdays were brunch days.  Brunch with Lena.  Or at least—they _used_ to be.

Before Kara had started cancelling.  Had it really been about protecting her secret, or had it been more out of spite? 

Kara couldn’t remember.

The door swung open and the guard popped his head in,

“Is everything alright in here?”

“No, everything is _not_ alright.”  Lillian growled through clenched teeth.  “You’ve left me in here with _a lunatic_.  Can’t you see Supergirl is beside herself?”

She gestured accusingly toward the blubbering hero who looked to still be in shock, her face contorted in an almost frightening manner. 

“Oh, well, I—”  The guard blubbered, stepping more bodily into the room as he fumbled with his keys and nightstick, obviously unsure about what to do in this highly peculiar situation. 

“If you would be so kind as to take me back to my cell—”  Lillian offered here wrists for the cuffs.

“Lillian, no wait—please.”  Kara stammered, slowly but surely coming back to the present. 

She rose too quickly from her chair and it flew back against the opposite wall, crashing and splintering, but Kara didn’t care.  She was focused on Lillian, on pleading her case.

The guard seemed to finally take heed of Lillian’s words and stepped between the two women, holding up a hand as if to ward off the Kryptonian even if he was clearly also flinching away from her shadow. 

“That’s close enough.”

“Please—”  Kara begged again, looking beyond the dutiful prison guard to Lillian, “Lillian, I didn’t come here for myself.  It’s—it’s about Lena.” 

Saying her name still sent a shockwave through Kara and she had to stop herself from crying out.  She bit her lip hard and blinked over and over again to combat the tears.  She had no breath left.  Her knees quaked.   

Lillian had frozen in place. 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her heart started pumping wildly, but she couldn’t help but turn to look at that wretched, _lying_ Kara Danvers—she was cursing herself because underneath it all, she was a doctor and she should have been cataloguing the signs from the moment she’d set eyes on the clearly heartbroken hero.  The misery that was so palpable—it was a wonder they weren’t all choking on it. 

“I thought I made myself clear.”  Lillian spoke icily, forcing herself to stand at her full height, “I don’t want to discuss my daughter with you until you end your little charade.  I’m not going to lie for you anymore, so you might as well just get it over with—”

“But that’s not—”

Before Kara could articulate her thoughts, the door flew open.  The door Kara had come through—the one leading to the administrative desks and the prison entrance. 

Kara, Lillian, and the guard all turned their eyes to the newcomer.  Kara’s eyes widened in shock.

“Alex?  What are you doing here?” 

“What the _hell_ is the matter with you?!”  Alex demanded brusquely as she pushed into the room, completely ignoring Kara’s question.  “I told you I would handle this!” 

“No you didn’t.”  Kara protested.  “You said you would handle the public—Lillian’s not part of the public anymore!” 

“Whoa, whoa—”  The guard once again seemed startled and ill-equipped to handle the rising tension.  He lifted his hands, but otherwise had nothing else to offer.

“Director Alex Danvers, Department of Extraterrestrial Operations.”  Alex said dryly, pulling out her badge to flash to the guard.  He blinked.   

“ _Director_?”  Lillian snorted just beyond the judge’s elbow, derision finally seeping back into her voice and giving her some semblance of normalcy, “What exactly have you done to earn that position?” 

Alex’s brown eyes narrowed and her lips twitched, but otherwise she remained stoic.

“I apologize for the mix-up, but you can take Mrs. Luthor back to her cell now—Supergirl and I are leaving.” 

“What?  Alex, no!”

“ _Finally_.”  Lillian breathed, “Someone who sees reason.”

“Right well—if you’re sure.”  The guard grumbled.  He finally reached out and locked the handcuffs in place. 

“Alex, wait, I—”  Kara tried to come forward to stop the guard and explain, but Alex held out her arm to keep Kara back, her eyes cold. 

“This isn’t the way.”  Alex said sternly, lowering her voice to hide it beneath the creaking of the exit door grinding open.  “We have _protocols_ in place—counselors who are trained to handle this sort of thing.” 

Kara flinched.  She hated that word. 

“How can you—how can you say that?!”  Kara demanded, new tears springing to her eyes,

“Lena was our friend!”  Kara snapped. 

Almost as soon as the words left Kara’s mouth, everything went still. 

Kara could hear more than one heart skip a beat. 

Alex’s eyes were wide—she looked as if she’d been punched in the gut, both shocked and pained.

But Kara was more concerned with the woman in orange behind her. 

Lillian looked frozen—completely paralyzed. 

“What—”  Her lips barely moved.  “What do you mean _was_?”


	19. Chapter 19

It took a little more negotiating for Alex to convince the guard to leave them alone a second time, and he asked to see her badge again.  He would much rather have deferred to Supergirl, but the hero didn’t seem very capable of taking charge at the moment.  Mrs. Luthor had called her a _lunatic_ , said she was _beside herself_ —but he would have boiled it down to hysterics.  The blonde was crying.  And from the looks of it she’d been crying a lot lately. 

The fluorescent lights flickered.

Kara and Lillian stood very still—staring at each other across a chasm full of grief—a chasm they’d both be falling into very soon.  For Kara, that chasm was an old friend.

Eventually the guard took his leave, with many reminders that he’d be just beyond the door.  He waited for one of the women to say something more to him, but they didn’t.  They seemed to have forgotten him completely, they were so absorbed in their own troubles. 

He sighed and marched out of the room with a shake of his head; he really hoped he wouldn’t regret the decision. 

Alex sighed, breaking the silence, and lifted a hand to brush her red hair from her eyes.  Her eyes were still hard—she was still angry that Kara had acted so rashly—but they were also aching.

“Shall we sit?”  Alex vaguely indicated the table in the center of the room. 

Kara swallowed and wiped at her eyes.  She had caught the question in Alex’s eyes, asking if she was strong enough for what came next.  She refused to look directly at her sister, but she tried to convey through her body language that she could do this on her own—tried to make herself believe she was strong enough. 

Wordlessly, the women arranged themselves around the table, borrowing chairs from the other stations to make up for the fact that Kara had broken one already and there had only been two chairs to begin with, one for the Luthor and the other for the Super.  It was a simple thing, circling around the table, but it provided a sense of normalcy, a thin bandage over a terrible gash that would only grow deeper the more that was said. 

Lillian carefully laced her fingers together, hoping somehow that the familiar action would give her the strength she needed for what came next.  She flicked her blue eyes between the two women.  It wasn’t just malice in her eyes anymore—there was a dependency that she loathed tethering her to the Danvers girls. 

She needed to know what had happened to her daughter.  And only they could tell her.

She waited.

“Lillian,”  Kara began as gently as she could with a raw throat and broken heart.  “I wanted you to hear it from me—”

Kara paused for a moment, waiting to see if Alex would interrupt. 

She didn’t. 

Kara swallowed. 

“There was—there was an accident at L-Corp.” 

Lillian’s eyes immediately narrowed and her lips contorted, “My daughter knows her way around the lab—she doesn’t have _accidents_.”

Alex took a sharp breath.  Kara just blinked.

“Besides, if anything serious had happened, we would have heard of it—”  Lillian trailed off awkwardly as her eyes fell to Alex, that awful dread finally wriggling its way through her walls to strike her in the chest.  Hard. 

Alex winced and had the decency to at least look a little ashamed. 

Both incarcerated Luthors were considered threats to humanity.  As such, they were monitored thoroughly—and their exposure to news from the outside world was severely limited.  Which meant no televised newcasts or newspapers.  Not unless the DEO signed off on it—which was another reason why Lillian hadn’t been informed yet—Alex had yet to approve the script the appointed counselor could use.  There was only so much they could share—certain details that this particular next-of-kin could not know.

It was the cold, heartless kind of government policy that Kara had probably wanted to avoid.  

Which was perhaps why Lillian looked to Alex for confirmation—for a shred of truth. 

Alex’s lips curled as she tried to ward off a debilitating wave of grief.  She clung to the formality, to her duty; it was the only way she could get through this.      

“There was an explosion.”  Alex said unevenly.  “A few days ago.  There was extensive damage to the city—heavy casualties.”

“Heavy casualties.”  Lillian repeated numbly.  Her heart had started to climb up her throat, trying to get her attention, make it difficult for her to breathe.  Lillian swallowed thickly and kept her eyes on the older Danvers girl—the one who actually looked like Jeremiah.

 “Okay, so--so what exactly are you trying to tell me?”  Lillian asked, trying to shrug her shoulders to offset the dread that weighed on her chest. 

“There was a little explosion at L-Corp and Lena got hurt?  Where is she?  Who’s looking after her?”  Lillian tried, knowing even as she did so that it sounded pathetic. 

Tears had started flowing from Kara’s eyes again and she shook her head, trying to work up the courage to speak again. 

“Not—not exactly.” 

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”  Lillian snarled, focusing on the clearly tormented Super, “Either she was hurt or she wasn’t.” 

“Lillian—” 

Alex’s tone was pitying—and that only scared Lillian further. 

“No, _answer me_!  Was she hurt?!”  Lillian snarled, desperation making her voice rise slightly in pitch. 

Kara opened her mouth several times, but all that escaped were sobs and she shook her head, burying her face in her hands and giving in to her helplessness. 

Alex looked like she wanted to cry just as hard, though she somehow managed to keep her tears at bay.  She put an arm around Kara, doing her best to take some of the burden.  She lifted her eyes to Lillian, her expression grim. 

“It—it wasn’t just a ‘little’ explosion.”  Alex said, though it was painful. 

Alex’s tone seemed to finally break through Lillian’s frantic thoughts and rampant emotions.  She forgot how to breathe, her breath rattled uselessly in her lungs and everything seemed to shut down.  The worry and tension faded from her frame as she sat back in her chair, sitting straight and tall, retreating completely behind the only defenses she had. 

“I see.” 

Lillian’s voice had gone cold. 

Kara vaguely remembered Lena saying Lillian had gone ‘cold and calm’ after Lex had been taken away.  She supposed it was the only way the woman knew how to cope.  Kara couldn’t criticize.  She had yet to find a sufficient way to grieve—her heart just kept ripping itself to pieces every time she thought about Lena.  And her breath left her body every time she said her name.  She was crying a lot and waking up without remembering how or when she’d fallen asleep.  She was hardly living—and she doubted it would get any better.

Lillian spread her fingers wide on the tabletop.

“I am ready now.”  She said quietly. 

“Ready for what?”  Kara asked, her eyebrows furrowing. 

Both Alex and Lillian seemed surprised that Kara had spoken—Lillian had in fact made eye contact with Alex, and the two seemed to have an understanding.  But Kara had missed it because she was staring down at her lap, gripping handfuls of her cape tightly. 

Lillian’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t lash out.  She kept her voice calm.

“I am ready for you to tell me everything.  Everything you can.”  Lillian’s blue eyes lifted to Alex again, challenging her.    

Kara nodded and swallowed thickly, forcing herself to speak first,

“You should know—I wasn’t there.”  Kara admitted to her fingers.  “I wasn’t there when it happened—when Lena needed me most, I wasn’t there.”  Kara’s breath caught in a sob and she tensed, waiting for Lillian to lash out.

“I thought you promised you weren’t going to make this about you, Kara.”  Lillian said icily. 

“Hey.”  Alex challenged. 

“No, it’s okay.”  Kara said quickly.  She reached up with the heel of her hand to wipe away a few tears.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.” 

 Lillian nodded curtly. 

Kara took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fresh pain in her chest.  She needed to say it out loud—she would only ever be able to say it once. 

“Lena had been working with a dangerous substance, a very powerful mineral from Krypton.” 

“Where did she get it?”  Lillian interrupted.   

“That’s classified.”  Alex snapped before Kara could answer. 

Lillian’s blue eyes narrowed as she glanced at Alex.  She unlocked her hands and placed her palms carefully on the table. 

“I know you’re new to this position, _Director_ , so I won’t hold it against you, but in this situation what’s _classified_ no longer matters.  Not anymore.  Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Alex worked her jaw, an angry retort rising to her lips, but then she caught Kara’s absolutely helpless expression out of the corner of her eye and she deflated, bowing her head to cede the floor to Kara again. 

“Alex, it’s okay.”  Kara turned weary eyes to Lillian, “She got it from us—we needed her help to stop these Worldkillers awhile back.  Oh, a Worldkiller is a, well, it’s—”

“An ancient Kryptonian bringer of darkness, yes I am familiar with the term.”  Lillian snipped, finally getting something like heat behind her words.

“Of course you are.”  Alex muttered, earning herself yet another glare from Lillian. 

“Anyway, the point is—Lena helped us stop them.  We were using kryptonite at first, but they had grown immune, so we had to find something else.”  Kara explained. 

Lillian’s fingers twitched, her hand half-lifting from the table. 

“Lena—Lena made kryptonite?”  Lillian’s lips twitched almost fondly at the prospect. 

Kara was so startled by the question that several tears seemed to teeter at the corner of her eye, frozen before they could take the plunge. 

“Don’t answer that.”  Alex said quickly, her jaw clenching. 

Kara turned her head to blink at her sister, hardly registering that Lillian’s cold mask had cracked—there was glee in her eyes, and a wicked smile stretching her lips. 

“She knew, didn’t she?”  Lillian’s tone was low, quivering with dark delight. 

Kara was startled and turned her head quickly, her throat clenching. 

“She knew.  She _finally_ figured out your little secret and she made the kryptonite to destroy you.”  Lillian whispered. 

She laughed, cruel and sharp.  Anything to distract from what she knew was coming.   

“Alright, that’s enough.”  Alex growled, half-rising so she could push Lillian back into her chair. 

Lillian didn’t resist.  She could accept this—as cutting as it was, she could.  If Lena had known, had finally broken through the lies, and made her own informed decisions, then maybe Lillian could accept it all.

“She didn’t.” 

Kara shattered Lillian’s fragile fantasy, the feeble wall of ice she’d built to hold back a violent sea of grief, with four little words.

“She died not knowing.” 


	20. Chapter 20

A stark stillness had fallen over the penitentiary’s visiting hall.

Lillian had fallen into a quiet pensiveness while Alex and Kara did their best to recount the events she both needed and hated to hear.  She couldn’t feel her own heart beating.  She supposed that was because it had shriveled and died a few moments ago.   

“Lena had been working with this kryptonian mineral for us, but after we vanquished the Worldkillers, she was supposed to turn it back over to us.”  Kara said, hoping her voice was still gentle.  She glanced at Alex. 

Alex sighed and ran a hand through her hair, brushing it from her eyes.

“Only she didn’t.  She kept a small sample for herself to study.  We believe she was trying to teach herself how to make it, the way she had with kryptonite.”  Alex explained.  

Lillian nodded numbly, her nostrils flaring as she forced her hands to curl, to stop the shaking in her hands.  Her blue eyes burned.   

“And the explosion?” 

Kara flinched and shifted slightly in her seat.  She reached up, intending to push her glasses back, but froze when she realized she wasn’t wearing them.  She remained unsure for a moment, her hand frozen half-way to her face, not sure what to say next. 

“That’s where it gets…complicated.”  Kara admitted. 

“Complicated.”  Lillian parroted.  She had meant to sneer, to fling the inconsequential term back at the hero who had failed her daughter, but it fell flat. 

Kara nodded, but it was Alex who sat forward and tried to make sense of it.

“We have a witness who says Lena had an adverse reaction to a sample of the mineral.  Her attempt to liquefy it failed.  Her equipment just wasn’t built to handle kryptonian elements.  Lena was exposed to the element, and it killed her.” 

“Alex.”  Kara shook her head, angry but also defeated.  This wasn’t how she had imagined this interview would go.  She had hoped that she could break the news gently, ease Lillian into it and treat Lena’s death with care—but Alex was wrecking all of Kara’s plans. 

But Lillian seemed to respond more to Alex’s way of speaking and her blue eyes fixated on the redhead.  Alex was aware and continued in the same tone, steady but slow,

“L-Corp itself was not affected right away.  Lena’s research team kept the damage contained and went for help—that’s when a group of unknown terrorists arrived on the scene.  They belonged to a cult of extremists run by a man named Thomas Coville.”  Alex paused and her eyebrow twitched as she met Lillian’s eyes, “Have you heard of him?” 

Lillian shook her head slowly. 

Alex nodded. 

She supposed that wasn’t surprising, seeing as Lillian and her son had been intent on destroying all things Kryptonian whereas Coville at least had some semblance of reverence for it, even if Alex thought his ways were twisted.    

“Coville had gotten his hands on a BetaHedron and used its knowledge to form the cult to worship old kryptonian gods, and Supergirl herself—he convinced his followers that the ‘End of Days’ was a good thing, and was in support of the Worldkiller, Reign.”

Lillian nodded, biting back a question about how this was relevant.  She remembered the whispers.  The signs popping up all over the city.  That had been before she’d been arrested, when she’d been a little more preoccupied with taking care of that pesky Edge who’d been terrorizing her daughter. 

At the time, the Worldkiller menace hadn’t even had a name. 

Lena had never spoken of it when she came to visit.  But that was to be expected.  More than one of their conversations had been rudely cut short because the guards had deemed it _unsafe_.  Whatever that meant. 

Lillian hadn’t minded.  Her favorite visits had been the ones where they hardly spoke at all.  Instead they played chess. 

“After Reign’s demise, Coville’s cult lost its momentum, but they held onto the hope that they could still fulfill their intended purpose and create a Worldkiller of their own.”  Alex said carefully.  She was giving Lillian a redacted version of events and she knew it wasn’t entirely cut and dry.  She could feel Kara still staring at her, but she couldn’t bear to look at her little sister again—if she did, she’d probably start crying. 

“And what does that have to do with Lena?”  Lillian finally managed, her gaze still intense. 

“Right.”  Alex took a deep breath and let it out.  “Supergirl was able to stop the cult before.  When they tried to perform their ritual.  But the second time—”

“This time you weren’t there.”  Lillian finished for Alex, her cold eyes finding Kara. 

Kara closed her eyes, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, and nodded. 

Lillian’s nostrils flared and she clenched and unclenched her jaw as she tried to work up the strength to ask the next question. 

“And what did they—what did they do to my daughter?”

Kara shuddered and blinked her eyes open.  She leaned forward, “Lillian, you don’t want—”

“No, no, no.”  Lillian snapped, her tone growing stronger with anger as her eyes darted over to Kara.  She was trembling with barely held back rage as she lifted a finger.  “You don’t talk.”

Kara flinched as if she’d been slapped. 

“Your friendship with my daughter was based on nothing but lies and therefore your claims on her are invalid.  I don’t care to hear your perspective.  Not when it’s fundamentally flawed.  You, on the other hand—”  Lillian swiveled her finger to point to Alex, “You worked with Lena in a professional capacity.  You are a fellow scientist—I want you to tell me what happened.”

Alex had not asked for such backhanded compliments, but she couldn’t summon the anger to snap back at Lillian.  Talking about Lena this way—trying to make sense of it left her drained.  She turned her brown eyes on Kara, asking her broken-hearted sister for permission. 

Kara looked shell shocked.  But when she felt Alex’s fingers close over her wrist, she somehow thought to look into her eyes and she nodded dimly. 

Alex gave Kara a soft look and then turned back to Lillian, trying to regain her former calm.  It had edges, and it cut her from the inside to try to sound detached.  She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up. 

Alex fixed her eyes on Lillian and did her best to square her shoulders. 

“If that’s the way you want it, then fine.  But I need you to understand—what I’m about to tell you is confidential, Lillian.  The details of Lena’s—of what happened have not been made public.  But we are telling you because you’re family—and because Kara thought you deserved to know.”  Alex jutted her chin toward her sister for emphasis, but Lillian didn’t bother looking at Kara again. 

As far as she was concerned, Kara Danvers was nothing.  A fabrication meant to divide Lena from Lillian.  And it seemed to have succeeded.  

“Tell me.”  Lillian said tightly. 

It didn’t help—she’d been bracing and bracing and bracing, waiting for the impact, but each new piece of information seemed to slip right under her walls, right under her skin and pierce her in soft places she had forgotten existed. 

Alex took another breath.

“We believe from the witness testimony that Lena was already dead when the cult members arrived at L-Corp.  The criminals forced their way into the lab and seized Lena’s samples of the kryptonian mineral.  They performed their ritual and imbued Lena’s body with the essence of a Worldkiller, which then destroyed all of the remaining samples of the kryptonian element and killed the L-Corp employees present.” 

Lillian looked slightly shocked, but she said nothing.  She lowered her eyes to the tabletop, a terrible ringing filling her ears.   

“When the Worldkiller destroyed the kryptonian elements, that’s what caused the blast.  We arrived on the scene and soon thereafter pieced together the identity of the new threat due to the scale of destruction and the—brutality of the deaths that befell the people in the lab.”  Alex paused to give Lillian a chance to ask questions, but the woman looked frozen, and Alex wasn’t even sure if her words were sinking in. 

“Our fears were confirmed once we got confirmed reports of Worldkiller attacks throughout the city.  We pooled all of our resources into finding it, and on Thursday night Supergirl was successful in dispatching the Worldkiller.”  Alex finished a little clunkier than she had meant to, but she had to reach up to wipe away a few tears that had slipped from the corners of her eyes. 

For several moments, silence reigned in the hall. 

Kara bit her lip to try to stifle her sobs. 

Finally, Lillian let out a shaky breath and lifted her blue eyes from the tabletop.   

“And—and when you say ‘Worldkiller’ you mean—?”

“Lena.”  Alex whispered softly. 

Lillian sucked in a sharp breath, her heart clenching.  A tear slipped from her cheek, but her face remained icy.  She refused to shatter. 

“I see.”  Lillian licked her lips, dipping her head as another tear slipped free.  She took several moments trying to regain her composure. 

Alex and Kara looked on, saying nothing, though their grief was just as intense. 

Lillian finally lifted her head, her expression finally starting to crack at the edges. 

“I would like—if you could let me know when the—when the service would be, I would—”

“Of course.”  Alex said quietly, nodding encouragingly.

Lillian nodded and her hands shook as she reached up to swipe at her eyes.  Breathing was starting to become more difficult, as if her chest had constricted, “And—if you would permit me—I’d like to write to Lex.” 

“Lillian, that’s not—”  Alex began, but Lillian cut back in.

“You can read it if you want.  Please.”  Lillian begged, she even turned her tearstained eyes on Kara for a brief moment, “Please.  Lex, he—he and Lena were very close.  You don’t know what this news will do to him.  He—he can’t hear it from anyone else.” 

Alex shook her head and worked her jaw, at war with herself. 

“We have—we have people who will make sure he is informed in a dignified way.”  Alex promised. 

Lillian’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m his mother.”  Lillian whispered tightly. 

She clenched fists to keep her hands from shaking.  “Please, Director—please let me be the one to tell my son that his sister is dead.” 

Alex’s lip trembled and she shook her head again even as her shoulders sagged and she sighed. 

“I—I’ll see what I can do.” 

Lillian’s lips twitched, but she couldn’t manage a smile. 

“Thank you.  Now, if—if that is all, I think I would like to go back to my cell now.”  Lillian said with what little pretense of strength she could muster. 

Alex nodded and drummed her fingers along the tabletop once as she pushed herself up to her feet. 

“Of course.  I’ll get the guard.” 

Lillian nodded, but remained seated.  Her blue eyes were far away—remembering the last conversation she’d had with her daughter. 

It had been after a vigorous game of chess where they hadn’t said much—well, Lena hadn’t.  She’d seemed preoccupied, but Lillian had kept up a lively one-sided conversation, criticizing her daughter’s technique—and disparaging her lack of focus. 

Lena had borne it well though—she always bore Lillian’s jibes well.  She’d learned at a very young age.

It had been when Lena was packing up—even if she’d been particularly quiet, she always said the same thing as she left,

“See you next time, Mom.”  Always with that small smile, “You know…if you’re still here.” 

And Lillian always answered with, “Don’t hold your breath.”   

Lillian felt the guard tugging on her arm and she carefully stood.  Steven had brought a new set of chained manacles and he took extra care as he fitted them over her wrists.  Lillian hardly felt the new ache at all. 

She didn’t feel anything as Steven took her elbow and guided her around the chair and the two Danvers girls toward the back door. 

“Lillian, wait—” 

Lillian froze when she heard the younger Danvers girl’s voice calling out to her.  She didn’t have to turn to know that Supergirl had reached for her. 

“I’m so sorry.”  Kara said it tentatively, sure that Lillian would react negatively.  She held her breath, waiting for the onslaught—

But Lillian didn’t turn around. 

She stood just as tall and stiffly as ever—but Kara swore she saw her dip her chin in a nod, as if she were acknowledging Kara’s grief, or maybe her own—it was the simplest motion, but for Kara it was enough. 

Enough to know that Lillian had heard her. 

For a moment, Kara felt the world right itself.  She'd never gotten the chance to apologize to Lena, but maybe--maybe she could still make it right.  Somehow.

But then the door slammed and Kara was left feeling just as empty as before.    

Whatever she’d hoped to achieve in coming here, whatever atonement she’d hoped to pay—Kara didn’t feel any different.  She was just as tired and helplessly _angry_. 

Just as lost. 


	21. Chapter 21

Kara had been in a fog before, barely managing to find her way from day to day.  But after seeing Lillian—she couldn’t seem to slip back into it.  Everything was bright and real and _terribly_ fast paced.  Time was flowing again— _coursing_ around her and she was powerless to stop it.

Sundays and Mondays and Funerals and Memorials.  They came hurtling at her—distinct and demanding her attention.     

It was bad enough that Kara had lost Lena, bad enough that her best friend had become a monster that only Supergirl could depose—but the fact that Time marched on, _the fact_ that Kara was expected to march on too—that was just unbearable. 

She couldn’t just—step back into life as if nothing had happened.  As if things were okay now.  As if they ever could be again. 

Rao, she’d thought she knew grief. 

But she was steadily learning—she knew nothing at all.

Some nights, her grief was _heavy_ —all those nightmare memories she couldn’t help but keep locked in her chest that were just _so heavy_ —they were coated in lies, layers and layers and _layers_ of them.  Those nights she couldn’t move—not even to ask Alex to let go, to let her breathe.    

Other nights she woke up in the dead of night gasping and choking, clinging to Alex and barely breathing because for a moment—she’d been drifting again.  Drowning in her quiet grief that was as endless and vast as the Phantom Zone.  There was a madness lurking in its depths—and it was _frightfully tempting_ , the thought of giving in. 

Of escaping Time’s relentless tick and Lillian’s harsh, but true words.

_Your friendship with my daughter was based on nothing but lies._

_Your claims on her—your love for her is invalid._

Kara wanted to escape it—all of it.

But Alex wouldn’t let her.

Kara was sure that without her sister—she’d just disappear.

She dragged Kara to the airport to pick up Sam and Ruby with her.  Made her carry all the ice cream she insisted would make things easier to bear if they ate it all together—Kara had no idea where she’d picked up such a ludicrous philosophy. 

When the flight was delayed in Midway City, Alex gave Kara a look and the Kryptonian found herself sneaking behind a wall of Arrival and Departure monitors to use her freeze breath—to save the ice cream. 

It was a simple thing—but it took a lot out of her.  To see the pistachio carton at the bottom of the bag. 

Lena had liked pistachio ice cream. 

But Kara didn’t have any in her freezer—she’d stopped stocking Lena’s favorite things after their fight over kryptonite.  Kara didn’t know why—why she’d just _accepted_ that drawing battle lines meant putting up walls, barring her friend from their most sacred spaces. 

Kara’s vision blurred—she’d started erasing Lena long before she’d killed her.

Alex called to Kara, dragged her right back into life’s current, right into a shower of condolences and a torrent of reunions.  Sam.  Ruby.  Eliza.  Kal and Lois.  Maggie.  Barry and Iris.     

Even J’onn.  He arrived clad in traditional Martian robes with the beginnings of a beard coming in dark and thick in his preferred human skin.  He still carried the old, comforting authority in his energy.

He appeared with kind words on his lips and a willingness to be helpful in his eyes—he said he had come back to help Alex navigate the hard trudge ahead, the delicate DEO policies and… _protocols_ that would provide the guidelines for coordinating with next of kin that just so happened to be company enemy number one.

But Kara knew Alex had called him.

Alex was doing her best to keep Kara tethered to the present—at night, her arms locked around Kara, and her weight kept her sister secure—she refused to let her float away.   

Kara knew Alex had sent up the flare, that they’d all been called back in the name of friendship. 

But that word had lost all meaning for Kara. 

She could barely make her smile reach her eyes when she saw them.  They were strangers. 

Sam had cut her hair.  It looked nice—only _different_.  And her eyes—they were darker.  Tired.

And Ruby—Ruby was learning to drive.  

And Barry--his face had gotten fuller.  He looked so much—happier.     

Kara didn’t know what to make of any of them.  The people she’d watched leave, the one’s she had missed.  They were ghosts from a world that had died with Lena.

And they’d all come back for the funeral as if it were an event—smiling and hugging each other in greeting, swapping news and chatting as if determined to prove that even these grim circumstances provided a silver lining.  As if there could ever be any kind of good to come from the ceremony that would officially close Lena’s life.

Kara knew better.     

When the service was over? 

They would leave all over again.  Every single one of them.  They would march right on. 

Kara pretended to act surprised when Winn arrived—though, she didn’t have to pretend to melt into his bear-hug.  He held Kara with such care, rocked in place with her—Kara had missed his hugs.

“It’s good to see you, man.” 

It was the first time James had set foot in the DEO since that awful night—when Alex had refused to hand over Lena’s body.  The two of them had argued _for hours_ , with James pointing out that Lena wouldn’t have wanted to be poked and prodded and _studied_ by people she didn’t trust—it was time for her to be laid to rest—sent to the city morgue where the other L-Corp victims were staying until their caskets arrived.  And Alex had insisted that Lena wouldn’t want a repeat of the tragedy—therefore it was necessary to treat her body as _evidence_ —to find every clue she could give them about the monster she'd created.  It was the kind of information that would be stored in the room no one spoke of--as a precaution.  After everything they'd been through with Sam, Lena would understand.   

James had stormed out then. 

And Alex had gone back into the dark, windowless room where they had laid the body.  She’d overseen every detail—watched them wash and re-clothe her, watched them clip fingernails and snip locks of silky, black hair.   When they were done, Alex had walked alongside the gurney to the loading dock.  She’d shaken the hand of the funeral home director and signed the forms he gave her.  As his men had begun to circle the plain, black box where Lena had been temporarily laid, preparing to lift her from the DEO gurney into the back of their vehicle for transport, Alex had asked, hoarsely and with great pain, that they _please_ be gentle with her friend.  

That night, Alex had gone back home to her apartment to find Kara curled up on her bed, the lights glaring and bright while her blue eyed sister had stared up at the ceiling with that same devastated look on her face—the one she’d had the very first time Alex had ever seen her as she walked tentatively across her lawn with Superman in hand. 

At the time, Alex had scoffed and thought she looked _pathetic_ —this great and powerful being, the hero of tomorrow, as her father had called her, this _godlike_ Kryptonian, had looked so _pitiful_.  So small and _wretched._  

Alex hadn’t realized then—because she’d been selfish and blind—just how much tragedy Kara carried, just how much she had managed to tuck away in her chest. 

Just walking that short distance—across that manicured lawn—had been a battle. 

One foot in front of the other.  Somehow finding it in her heart to trust that Earth’s crust wouldn’t crumble away beneath her small feet, that the faces that smiled and cooed over her would _stay_ this time— _God_ , even then, Kara had been so _brave_.  

And Alex had seen that look a second time, that heart-broken, terrified and wounded, that overwhelmed and _brave_ look, on the night that Lena had died.  And this time—Kara’s eyes stayed open.  She didn’t look away.  Didn’t try to hide it.  Not like when she’d lost Krypton. 

Alex hadn’t bothered changing or even kicking off her boots, she hadn’t wasted any time.  She’d gone right to Kara, crawled up beside her so she could hold her close, do what little she could to protect her from her grief. 

She hadn’t said a word about what she’d just experienced.  Kara had suffered enough. 

Alex had known, early on—that the only way any of them could survive this was by leaning on each other.  So she’d called reinforcements.  Not just for Kara.  But for herself.  And James. 

They were all trying to navigate life without Lena—and they were bound to stumble.  They’d need each other. 

So she’d begged Winn to come back—to help her find a way back to James. 

“Oh gosh, man—I’m so sorry.”  Winn murmured in a soft voice as he carefully released Kara and redirected his sympathy and support. 

“Thanks man.”  James sighed as he clapped Winn around the shoulders.

James looked terrible.  He had been sleeping in his office lately, and he’d been wearing the same rumpled button up for at least three days—but seeing Winn at least got him to smile.

Winn didn’t let go of James, but he nodded toward the others gathered around, trying to hold each one with his eyes.

“Wow—you’ve got your own suit now?”  Ruby broke the silence, her lips parting to reveal her new braces.  Blue and Green. 

Winn chuckled and stepped away from James so his friends could get the full effect. 

“Yeah, pretty neat, huh?” 

“Very nice.”  Kal drawled with a wink. 

Lois chuckled and tilted her head to the side, her nose crinkling. 

“Simple, but elegant.  I like it—I’m always telling him he needs to let you tinker with his suit—”

“Hey, it’s a classic look—you shouldn’t mess with classic.”  Barry interrupted, earning an eye-roll and swat on the arm from Iris, though Kal gave Barry an appreciative nod. 

“What, guys—come on.”  Winn put his hands on his hips and tossed his head in the most unaffected manner.  The Legion ring on his finger flashed in the stark lighting of the DEO.  “I didn’t _make_ this.  I’m far too busy for that kind of stuff now.”

“Right—so the elf-ish writing around the crest is just a coincidence?”  Maggie asked, stroking her chin and making the others all laugh. 

She stood apart from Alex—doing her best to avoid tension and unanswered questions.  There were other things, _far more important things_ to worry about other than how awkward it was for her to stand among friends she’d _only_ met because of her ex-fiancé.

Eliza was gracious, of course.  And J’onn had nodded to her.  And James was polite—to an extent.  Maggie knew he was grieving.  Hell, they all were.    

She’d known Lena too.  She’d arrested her more than once—but it had been more than that. 

On the night she’d left the home she’d believed she’d share with Alex for the rest of her life, Maggie had told Alex she’d had a friend who’d said she could crash—but she’d lied.  It had hit her, as they’d been repackaging the wedding gifts they had no right to keep—that all of her friends, her support network, they were from before—before National City, before Alex, before _all of it._

Her transfer to the NCPD had never been intended to be a permanent thing—she’d avoided permanence avidly for much of her life, ever since high school—when she’d lived out of a black trash bag for three years, always afraid that she’d have to pack up and go away again.  It had become habit—never staying in one place too long.    

She’d had friends in the force—friends who she kept up with.  Friends who had sent extravagant wedding gifts and thoughtful cards all expressing the same sentiments—they were _so happy_ for her, and _so sorry_ that they couldn’t make it.  

Maggie had never put down roots—not until Alex.  Not until Alex had opened that door and showed her how to truly bloom—to open herself up. 

And that night—she’d never felt so alone as when she had driven back to the police station--so out of sorts and out of balance without her engagement ring on her finger.  She’d intended to just spend a few nights in the crib, until she could sort something out.

And she’d never been more surprised than when her cell phone had rung—because Lena was calling.   Maggie could count the number of game nights she’d attended where she’d actually spoken with Lena Luthor on one hand—but on that night, Lena had called.  Lena had called to ask if Maggie was okay—Lena had called to ask if Maggie had somewhere to stay, someone to talk to.

Maggie had thought then, as she’d been picked up out of her haze of despair and driven in a town car to the lights of the Baldwin where Lena had been waiting with fresh pajamas and vegan ice cream and scotch—that Lena was an angel. 

She thought that still, as she stood apart from the woman she had loved and tried not to crumble on the spot—Alex didn’t look at her the same.  Her brown eyes were fond.  Nothing more. 

Thinking about Lena, it distracted Maggie from addressing the fact that Alex had moved on. 

“I’ll have you know—”  Winn cut back, coaxing Maggie out of her reverie, “that Quenya, is _finally_ given the appreciation it _so deserves_ in the future—”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.  Is that all, nerd?  ‘Cause some of us have things to do—”  Vasquez grumped from the periphery. 

Alex caught her eye around Sam’s shoulder. 

Vasquez cleared her throat and straightened her silky black tie as she gestured subtly toward the digital clock on the far wall. 

“Well—I guess now that Winn’s here we can—start loading.”  Alex said haltingly.  It sounded like a question.  She caught herself looking to J’onn out of habit.  She didn’t think she’d ever be as sure and calm as he had been.  She couldn't bring herself to stand in his shadow anymore--it was cold now, not as warm as when she'd been just his protege.  

“Wait—Winn, did you come alone?”  Sam asked, frowning slightly as her eyes darted furtively to Kara. 

Sam knew her memory from that time—so long ago now—was a little fuzzy.  Mostly because she’d blocked it out.  But she knew there had been more of them.  These— _Legionnaires_.

Winn’s smile froze on his face, his eyes widening slightly. 

Thankfully, J’onn could hear the young man’s frantic thoughts and stepped forward, dropping a hand down on Kara’s shoulder as he brushed by—just to reassure her.  He didn’t think he’d seen her breathe at all in the last five minutes or more.  She looked—skeptical, beneath all of her grief.  Her smile was plastered on, J’onn knew that.  But the Kryptonian looked as if she didn’t trust what was unfolding before her in the slightest—as if she were waiting for the second shoe to drop.    

“I think Alex is right—now that we’re all here, we’d better get organized.  Winn was cutting it pretty close.  It’s a quarter to.”  J’onn intoned deeply. 

“Oh dear.”  Sam whispered, lifting her hands to her cheeks as fresh tears sprang to the corners of her eyes.  Beside her, Ruby instinctively put a hand on her mother’s arm.  If Alex had been standing any closer—she would have hugged them both. 

But she was more concerned with Kara.  Her sister was staring off into space again. 

“Right—Vasquez, why don’t you go ahead—I know you said you’d pick up Eve and she might want to arrive a little early.”  Alex said, gripping her own wrist tightly, in a feeble attempt to appear relaxed. 

“Who is Eve?”  Ruby asked. 

Sam shushed her. 

She’d picked up on Alex’s hesitancy.  Even after all these months, they still had a special connection. 

“I can go with you, Susan.”  Maggie volunteered.  She’d heard the survivor of the L-Corp tragedy was very fragile—she figured Susan, the notorious techie, may need someone with—a more _delicate_ set of people skills to assist.

“Do you have a welcoming party for Lillian?”  Kal-el asked, his tone hard and not softening at all toward the grieving Luthor matriarch. 

Alex shook her head. 

“I couldn’t very well order my agents to attend the Memorial _and_ the private service—not without facing a full-scale mutiny.  The county’s providing a police escort.  I figure that’ll do.”  Alex sighed.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”  Lois insisted before Kal could protest any further. 

“The woman is burying her daughter.”  Eliza added sagely.  She’d been concerned with Kara too and hadn’t commented on Winn’s antics before.  Now she lifted her blue eyes, and the look in them was solemn, “I think the least we can do is let her grieve without worrying about how many guards are around to witness it.” 

“I don’t know—grief makes people do crazy things.”  Winn muttered, thinking back to the last funeral he’d attended—and how deadly it had been. 

“Right.  Well—come on you two, you’re with us.”  Lois clapped her hands, gesturing for Barry and Iris to step out with her and Clark.  “We’ll make sure you get where you need to be.”

“Should-should we go too?”  Ruby asked her mother, watching the others go. 

Sam bit her lip, her eyes instinctively going to Alex. 

“I’d be more than happy to take you.”  Eliza cut in, giving Sam and Ruby a warm smile. 

“I’ll tag along if you don’t mind.”  J’onn offered, subconsciously falling into his Director stance that was both open and non-negotiable.  “There’s a bit of a trick to finding the place.”

“Oh, yes—that’d be fine.”  Sam agreed, her eyes leaving Alex to focus on Eliza. 

“Wait.  What about Kara?  Don’t we need to go get her?”  Ruby asked, finally realizing that while all of Alex’s superhero friends were present, her little sister was not. 

“You know what—I think she had a run in her hose.”  Alex lied through her teeth,

“That’s right.”  Eliza nodded to give Alex’s poorly toned invention some validity.  J’onn simply nodded gravely. 

“I think she just ran down the street to get a new pair—but don’t you worry, Rubes.  She’ll be there.”  Alex promised for Kara while Kara stood despondent and quiet less than two feet away. 

“Good.”  Ruby nodded. 

Much like Alex, Ruby had taken on the role of the supporter while her mother broke down over and over again.  She’d cried for her aunt Lena, of course, but she spent more time wiping away her mother’s tears than her own.  Her own grief she kept inside. 

She’d written a song for Lena, on the plane ride over.  

She had thought at first she might write it and then sing it to her mom when she started shaking uncontrollably again—but when she’d finished, she’d hidden it away in her carry-on. 

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to sing it to anyone.  She’d just carry the words with her.  And hum it to herself when no one else was leaning on her. 

“I know I’d want my best friend at my funeral.”  Ruby observed. 

Eliza looked a little startled, and Sam’s eyes darted apologetically to Kara—who she saw as Supergirl, whom she feared her daughter might have offended.    

“Right—well, I think Mr. Henshaw and Eliza here are very kind in offering to take us and I don’t think we should keep them waiting around.  Come on, kiddo.”  Sam shook Ruby’s shoulder’s affectionately and tugged her toward J’onn and Eliza as she nonchalantly brushed some unbidden tears from her eyes. 

“We’ll be right behind you.”  James called numbly. 

Sam’s heels clicked on the floors, but eventually, even the echoes faded. 

And then they were alone. 

James and Winn and Alex and Kara. 

With less than a half-hour before Lena’s funeral was due to begin.


	22. Chapter 22

“So.”  Winn was the first to speak, but he kept his voice soft.  Gentle. 

“How’s everybody doing?” 

Alex immediately sighed—her shoulders drooping now that the others had gone.  Her voice was scratchy—scratchy and sarcastic,  

“Oh you know— _great_.”   

James dropped down into the nearest chair as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. 

“Horrible.”  James admitted.  He ran a hand wearily over his face, wishing that Today were over and done with, that the pain would just _go away_. 

Winn nodded and ran a hand through his hair, unable to think of anything encouraging to say, he could only agree.

“Yeah.  It’s—it’s pretty—”    

“I don’t think I should go.”  Kara announced quite suddenly and without preamble. 

She had held her tongue all this time—just listening and observing without quite feeling present.  Or a part of any of it.  But Ruby’s words had jolted her back into _the now,_

_“I know I’d want my best friend at my funeral—”_

Those words—they seemed to taunt her.  

“What?”  Alex demanded, her brown eyes widening. 

She felt a sharp pain in her gut—she was having terrible flashbacks to the last time they’d been in a situation like this.  And she didn’t understand it.  She’d been so careful this time.  When Kara had last lost someone she loved—her Kryptonian sister had refused to feel anything, had risen above human anguish.  And Alex had let her do it—she’d given Kara space, tried to let her grieve in her own way—and it was one of her biggest regrets. 

So after losing Lena, she’d vowed not to leave Kara alone for a second. 

And Alex had thought that they were doing _okay._   Not _great,_ because no one grieving could ever be _great_ , but they had each other and Alex thought she’d been helping.  Kara had seemed to be giving in to her emotional responses this time instead of shutting them out. 

But this—something in Kara’s tone made Alex suddenly aware that something was terribly _wrong_. 

James’s head shot up, but it was Winn who responded first to their friend’s suffering,  

“Hey now—why would you say that?”  Winn asked gently as he carefully let his hand fall on Kara’s shoulder. 

His expression was pained as he gazed at his friend—Kara looked so different.  So changed. 

Kara took a shaky breath, more words ghosting through her mind—Lillian’s this time.

_“How much longer do you think you can keep your dirty little secret?  Hmm?  When Lena finds out, and believe me, she’ll find out—she’ll hate you more than she ever hated me.”_

“It’s just—”  Kara swallowed thickly, “I don’t think Lena would want me there.”

“What?  Of course she would.”  Winn tried, his eyes going wide.

Kara shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes, “She wouldn’t.  Not if she knew the truth.”

“Kara.”  James tried to step in as well.  “I know you feel responsible for what happened, but that’s not—"

“I’m not talking about _Supergirl_ , James.”  Kara spat, her voice suddenly growing thin— _cold_ , “ _Supergirl_ doesn’t deserve to go—I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon for the murderer to show up to their victim’s funeral.”

James flinched and Winn took a step back, alarmed. 

It was Alex who took a stand against Kara’s lashing out, her eyebrows furrowing together as she stepped into Kara's line of sight, drawing her sister's blue, angry eyes away from their friends.

“Kara, you know perfectly well that destroying the Worldkiller was the only option.  You performed a public service.  Despite your rivalry, _that_ is something Lena would have understood.”

“You don’t—you don’t know that.”  Kara stammered.

She wanted to scream again.  To uncoil the anger and—and _hatred_ in her chest. 

“I know that every time I wanted to be the car in Monopoly, Lena had to get it first.  I know that every time I ordered pizza, Lena wanted pasta.  I know that when I okayed the lithium batteries as the power source for the image inducers, Lena immediately started working on a solar powered model—” Alex said solemnly as she took Kara by the shoulders.  Her little sister blinked several times in confusion, but Alex didn’t miss a beat,

“I know that nine times out of ten, Lena and I, we disagreed.  But we could _always_ agree on you.  Lena thought the world of you, Kara.”  Alex said, squeezing Kara’s shoulders encouragingly.      

“That’s right.”  James added.

“She always said you were her favorite person.”  Winn nodded.

“You were her best friend.”  Alex spoke in a gentler tone.  "She would want you there."

Kara took a sharp breath. 

“But I wasn’t her best friend.”  Kara whispered without breath.  “I wasn’t—I wasn’t even a _good_ friend.”

She blinked back tears and gripped Alex’s hands, needing an anchor lest time should shatter again and take her away from this chance to be understood, to share a jagged fragment of herself with the one who could always make sense of even her most twisted and hopeless pieces. 

“Alex, Lillian was right.  I don’t deserve to be called Lena’s friend.  It was all based on lies.  Supergirl _always_ got in the way of the truth.  Lena was always so open, but I—all I ever did was _take_ from her.  All those interviews—Lena always shared more than she had to because she _trusted_ me, but I—I never even told her my real name.  I never talked about my past.  I never let her see just how similar we are—I mean _were_.”  Kara stammered. 

She sounded pitiful.  No air.  No hope. 

Her anger seemed to have collected in the pit of her stomach, she wouldn’t be able to fly away even if she wanted to.  It was hard enough to remain standing.

Alex gazed into Kara’s eyes for a long moment.

“You’re wrong Kara.”  Alex finally whispered.  She tightened her grip on Kara’s shoulders, needing her to stay _right there_ , to hear what Alex had to say, “And I think it’s a disservice to Lena’s memory to disassociate yourself from the version of Kara that she admired and loved.”

“But Alex—” Kara tried to interrupt. 

“Did Lena ever demand that you tell her every little detail about yourself?”  Alex spoke over Kara, her brown eyes darkening slightly. 

Kara struggled for a moment to make sense of the question. 

“No.” 

“Exactly.”  Alex nodded, she’d expected such an answer.  “And that’s because Lena understood the importance of secrets.  She would _never_  have tried to force them from you.” 

James snorted and looked away. 

Alex ignored him.

“Lena was a giver, Kara.  You know that.  She gave to her friends, to the city too, without expecting anything in return.  And I know you feel guilty because Lena was honest with you when you couldn’t be—but I think that was kind of the point.  She wanted you to know that she trusted you, that she wanted to build a friendship with you.  And she was willing to wait for you to be able to be as open with her.  I think—she would have waited forever.”   

Kara’s shoulders sagged.  Her fists finally unclenched and she seemed to sway where she stood.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”  Kara demanded, her voice scratchy.  Raw.  

Alex shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I just—I don’t want you to believe everything Lillian says.  She didn't know Lena the way we did.”

Kara nodded, but didn’t look up. 

She stared at her feet—there actually was a small run in her black pantyhose, a small tear stretching over the top of her right foot.

“Hey guys—I think it’s time to go.”  James said heavily, as he rose to his feet.   

Alex sighed and ran a hand through her hair, finally letting go of Kara. 

“Right—I guess we can’t put it off any longer.”  Alex observed, glancing at the clock again.  “Winn—you want to ride with me or James?”

Winn looked a little surprised to be dragged so suddenly back into the conversation. 

“Oh ummm—which one of you has the cooler helmet?” 

“Alex doesn’t even _have_ a passenger helmet.”  James observed tiredly, though his lips twitched into an almost-smile. 

“I do too.”  Alex shot back defensively, as she stalked toward the other side of the room, where the locker room entrance was located.

“Oh yeah, where is it?”  James goaded, following Alex with a much more definite smile stretching across his face. 

“It’s in here and it’s _definitely_ cooler than yours.”  Alex glared over her shoulder as she pushed into the locker room. 

James rolled his eyes. 

“ _Nothing_ is cooler than the dark classic, and you know it.”  James called as the door swung behind him. 

Winn remained at Kara’s side, waiting for Alex and James’s argument to fade.

“Shouldn’t we follow them?”  Kara asked.  She was still trying to sort through Alex’s words—they had fallen rather harmlessly on her ears, but now they seemed to be cutting into her chest slowly, causing her great pain. 

“Oh yeah, definitely.”  Winn nodded, “But first I—I wanted to let you know that we’re all so—so sorry, Kara.  Really.  All of us, we’re just—so sad that this happened.  I wish I knew what to say to make it easier for you.”

Kara blinked.  

“Who’s ‘we’?”    

Winn’s rather nervous expression that he’d sported when looking over his shoulder to see if Alex or James had come back seemed to melt then. 

He smiled at Kara and took her hand. 

Winn strolled over to an empty computer station and typed in a few choice commands, looking as natural and sure as he always had when he'd worked in the DEO. 

Kara just stood behind him, her eyes widening when the screen opened a chat window—with Mon-el.  And Brainy. 

Winn turned back to Kara, still smiling that gentle smile and gestured for her to come closer. 

“Kara?”  Mon-el’s voice was almost tinny.  “Is Kara there?”

Winn nodded and leaned closer to the microphone taped to the top of Vasquez’s monitor. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s here, just a sec…” 

Winn reached over and gently tugged on Kara’s wrist, pulling her into view of the camera transmitting to the Legion members currently not on Earth.

Kara was too shocked to really think of an appropriate greeting for her back from the future friends.  More strangers—more friends called to keep her from giving in to the sweet madness of despair. 

Kara asked the first thing that came to her mind,

“Where are you?” 

“Oh, we are precisely—”

“We’re on the other side of the moon.”  Mon-el interrupted Brainy, shoving him slightly out of frame.  “We’re here for you.” 

“Yes, though we cannot be physically present beside you, what Mon-el means is that we are—metaphorically, by your side.  This is meant to be comforting.”  Brainy explained. 

Kara just blinked up at Winn—it was moments like these that she wished to be back in the fog where it was quiet—that she didn’t have to think about Lena waiting forever.  Always alone.  And Lillian being wrong or right.  Mourning and scheming.  And Winn representing an entire Legion of superheroes who were _sad this had happened._

“Why are they on the other side of the moon?”  Kara asked dully, “Why didn’t they come with you?” 

Winn winced. 

He glanced away and fiddled with his Legion ring, but didn’t let the silence stretch too long. 

“It’s—it’s the air, Kara.  Mon-el can’t—because Lena, well—you know.  She never—so the atmosphere’s still—toxic.” 

Kara felt Alex’s words cut into some part of her that had miraculously remained soft, and it bled—and crumbled.

_Lena was a giver.  She gave so much to her friends, to the city too._

Alex had forgotten to mention _the world_.  Lena gave _so much_ to the world.  Through L-Corp. 

But now that it had fallen— 

Kara had forgotten all about its future—how it was supposed to thrive and prosper for over 400 years.  She supposed none of that would be possible now.  Not without Lena. 

“Kara, hey—we’re here for you, okay.  Any time you want to talk—or if you need anything,”  Mon-el started, his brown eyes full of sympathy.

Kara closed the chat window. 

 

She didn’t want to talk about it. 

Not with Mon-el and Brainy who were _literal_ proof that Time would continue to march on and on.

 _Today_ was what mattered.  _Today_ her heart was in pieces.  _Today_ she was burying Lena.

 

And Kara was convinced that there was _absolutely nothing_ she could _need_ from _anyone_ representing a future without Lena. 

 

In a few hours, however, her position on the matter would alter.  Drastically.


	23. Chapter 23

It was a small service, relatively speaking.

But Kara knew Lena would have wanted it that way.  While her goal had always been to make a _global_ impact, Lena had only a small circle of people she _truly_ trusted—of friends. 

Kara tried not to feel like an imposter at her best friend’s funeral.  But it didn’t help that there were so many things just— _wrong_. 

The sun was shining.  What a _betrayal_. 

The music was light, airy.  _Why?_

 _Why_ had Lillian insisted that the service be held on the Luthor estate?  _Why_ was the Luthor crest displayed so prominently on vases and the black drapery?  Why was it shining and golden right in the middle of Lena’s casket?   _And, Oh Rao_ , the casket—Kara knew Lena would have hated it.  It was black and marbled, gilded and _gaudy_ —and it was fated to be taken down into the deep dark of the Luthor Mausoleum, the one place Kara _knew_ Lena didn’t want to be.    

Lena had never truly been ashamed of her family name, but Kara knew she wouldn’t have wanted to flaunt it like this.  Make it the focus. 

She would have wanted a simpler affair.  Softer colors. 

But Kara didn’t say anything.  Didn’t question Lillian’s choices. 

How could she?

What right did she have to tell Lena’s stepmother that she had chosen the wrong music, or that she was dishonoring Lena’s memory by choosing white lilies and roses with sprigs of lavender? 

What did it matter that Kara _knew_ Lena would have preferred plumerias?    

She had no right to criticize the choices that had been made.  No right to speak. 

Kara knew these things about Lena because her friend had opened her heart to Kara, had trusted her blindly.  But those pieces of Lena—they shone bright and pure.  And Kara had no right to touch them. 

_“Your love for her is invalid.”_

 

So Kara sat between Winn and Ruby and kept her eyes downcast.  It was all she could do to keep breathing, to stay _present_ in today when drifting _away_ promised to be much less painful.    

She couldn’t even bring herself to watch the slideshow James had put together. 

She just stared at the piece of paper she had been handed as she walked across the lawn to the gaping entrance of the mausoleum where the chairs had been set up.  There was a picture of Lena on the front—and she was smiling.  She traced it with her thumb.

She tried not to look over the rest of it—tried to focus _only_ on Lena’s face, on the easy way she was smiling into the camera. 

It wasn’t a recent picture. 

It bore very little resemblance to the monster Kara had killed only a few days ago. 

No—this picture was of a young Lena, a young, aspiring Lena.  She was relaxed, leaning into someone who had been cropped out of the picture.

Kara wished with all of her might that it was herself—wished she could claim that warmth that emanated from the simple image.  Wished she had been the reason Lena had that familiar scrunch to her nose, and that blinding smile that reached all the way to her eyes.  But she knew it wasn’t. 

She could tell from the hand on Lena’s shoulder, the adoration in her eyes. 

It had been a picture of Lena and Lex. 

It had been before Kara had even met Lena.  Before she’d ever saved her as Supergirl.  Before she’d ever lied. 

 

Kara took a sharp breath and felt Ruby’s hand fall onto her arm. 

The young girl flashed her a sympathetic half-smile and proffered a Kleenex.

Kara swallowed and shook her head.  She tried to breathe through her nose, tried to focus on something other than the cold words glaring at her from every paper bulletin and the large stone monolith only a few feet away;

Lena Kieran Luthor

1993 – 2018

What she really needed was Alex; not that she didn’t appreciate Winn and Ruby trying to comfort her with Kleenexes and the occasional brush of knees, or Eliza’s gentle hand on her shoulder from the row behind—it was just that Kara really wished Alex had come to sit with them.

But Alex had opted to stand watch off to the side, with Lillian. 

Kara turned as subtly in her chair as she could to look over her shoulder and catch Alex’s eye.  All around her, her friends were sniffling and solemn and leaning on each other for support as songs like “Somewhere over the Rainbow”, and “This I Promise You” played achingly loud, but Kara still sat stiff and jagged and... _unbelieving_ in her chair.

It just—didn’t feel right.  Or _real_.

So she looked to Alex.  Her anchor.

She stood further up the hill, stark and still in her black suit, with her hands folded before her and her shoulders back—looking as strong as ever.  But if Kara squinted, she could see the tears at the corner of her sister’s eyes. 

 

Alex took a shuddering breath and her eyes slid to Kara.  She smiled as encouragingly as she could and gestured with her chin toward the sheet draped over the mausoleum entrance where the slideshow was cycling through.

She’d been watching her sister closely all through the service, as a rather short obituary was read and poems recited—Kara had barely moved.  Alex didn’t think she’d breathed. 

It worried her. 

 

But now—Alex bit her lip as she watched Kara tense and turn, watched her tremor and then crumble when she saw the picture James had decided to include in the slideshow—one he’d pulled from the Catco files, one they had staged so long ago as part of a shoot promoting the renovations to the water front and show off the new Supergirl statue.  It was one of the pictures that hadn’t made the final cut for publication in the magazine, mostly because it hadn’t been planned.  But while they’d been goofing off between staging, James had snapped a photo of Lena mimicking the Supergirl pose in the shadow of the statue—her eyes were obscured by her sunglasses, but her goofy grin was plain.

Alex hadn’t been there when it was taken, but she had sat with James for hours last night—just to be his sounding board and listen as he sorted through the thousands of pictures they had culled from friends and archives.  She’d listened to him despair at the impossibility of it all, of trying to convey how much Lena meant to them in four minutes worth of photos.  She’d listened while he told the stories behind the photos—watched as he chose the ones he felt conveyed Lena’s strength, her warmth, her giving heart.  Alex thought he had made wonderful choices, while being respectful of what Lillian expected as well. 

Alex hoped the pictures would help—not only James and everyone else who had come to the service to mourn and remember, but Kara especially.  Her little sister had been in a dark place lately—as if she’d lost perspective and was only able to dwell on the pain of the last few months. 

Alex fervently hoped James’s slideshow might remind Kara of the brighter times, long before the kryptonite rift, before Lillian had planted those damned seeds of doubt.  She wished Kara didn’t have to work so hard to reconcile those different versions of the past, the open friendship and the cursed rivalry.  Alex believed what she’d told Kara—that Lena’s faith and love in _Kara Danvers_ had never faltered, but she knew convincing Kara of that would take time. 

But whoever said Time heals all wounds had been _sorely_ mistaken. 

Grief was getting _heavier_. 

Smiling was getting _harder_. 

And every day was full of little battles—Alex was a little afraid that getting Kara to the funeral would be her only victory of the day; and she didn’t know if that would be enough.    

 

Alex bowed her head as another Luthor family photo flashed across the screen—Lena was holding a chess trophy.

She took a deep breath and chanced a glance at Lillian.  

Alex wasn’t made of stone.  She felt for Lillian—she _did_ —but she also couldn’t bring herself to trust the woman. 

The two guards sent by the county had given in halfway through the opening condolences and sunk down into chairs.  Alex wasn’t impressed.  The one on the right hadn’t even removed his cap. 

Lillian sat ramrod straight between the guards.  They had allowed her to wear a black dress for the occasion, but she hadn’t been allowed any adornment—save the chains at her ankles and around her left wrist.  Her right hand had been left free so she could receive the condolence roses from the officiant and dry her eyes if needed.  But so far, Lillian had yet to shed a tear.  But Alex wasn’t sure if it was strength that kept her upright—Lillian seemed despondent, _frail_. 

Alex knew she had heard all of the testimonials and seen all the pictures, she just didn’t know if any of it had _really_ sunken in yet.  The funeral.  The death.  Alex knew Lillian understood that Lena was dead—but she wasn’t sure if the _loss_ had taken its effect yet. 

She stayed on hand because she feared what would happen when Lillian’s armor cracked—grief was a powerful motivator.    

Lillian’s blue eyes were still so difficult to read. 

 

Alex noted that Lillian had slowly torn her bulletin into very small pieces—they cascaded down to the grass whenever Lillian breathed because her whole body trembled with each and every breath.  They stood out stark and pale in the otherwise perfectly manicured grass.   

Alex lifted her head as the final strains of Madonna’s “I’ll Remember” grew faint and the last picture faded to black. 

The officiant rose to give his final words of encouragement,

“Friends—this concludes the service for Miss Lena Luthor, but I would like to offer some well known words of comfort in this time of great sorrow.  They come from the poet David Harkins, and as I read his poem, I’d invite you to reflect on your time with this remarkable young woman. ‘You can shed tears that she is gone’—”

Alex took the opportunity to look around once the lawn again.  She was glad to see that Kara had Winn’s shoulder to cry on, and that Ruby was holding Sam while she wept—and of course, poor Eve had Vasquez and Maggie on either side, so Alex knew she was in good hands, while James seemed to take comfort in Clark. 

But Lillian—Alex wasn’t sure how exactly to help her. 

She’d tried to make sure she’d be comfortable, even if she couldn’t risk letting her go near the casket in front of the mausoleum.  Or let her get within fifty yards of the manor house…or the guest house to the west…or the three-story garage next to that.  There were danger zones all over the estate—places that had yet to be cleared, places where Lex might have hidden weapons or _worse_ —anything was possible.

It was a fine line she had to tread, trying to respect that motherly side of Lillian that must be mourning her daughter without letting her get close enough to any of her son’s potentially dangerous tech. 

 

“…‘Smile, open your eyes, love, and go on.’”  The officiant finished with a flourish. 

The words were left to hang in the air—Alex wasn’t really sure if she wanted to breathe them in herself. 

She supposed in passing it was a hopeful message.  But today it seemed outlandish.  _Brutal_ even. 

 

For the most part, the mourners remained seated, weighed down by grief—or perhaps they wanted one last moment with Lena, before the casket was taken down. 

With so many of Lena’s cherished friends gathered together, with her memory forefront in so many minds, it was impossible not to feel the importance of this moment—of this _goodbye_. 

Alex willed Kara to move, to _breathe_. 

But she was distracted when Eve rose shakily to her feet, flanked on either side by a worried looking Vasquez and a grim Maggie.  The blonde’s progress was slow.  Her feet shuffled.  But she was the first to walk up to the casket, to bid Lena farewell.    

 

“Right, that’s it then.  On your feet.”  The guard on the left grunted at his charge--at Lillian, cold and calm as she was.

Alex frowned and turned. 

“Excuse me—there’s no rush.”  Alex pointed out, unable to keep the contempt from her voice. 

“Maybe not for you, Miss, but we’ve gotta have her back by noon.”  The guard on the right retorted with a shrug, gesturing almost accusingly toward the prisoner. 

Alex sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

“Alright, well—if you want to go get the van, I can wait here with Mrs. Luthor.”  Alex said in a tone that left no room for argument. 

“Are you sure—”

“I’m positive.”  Alex snapped, her nostrils flaring.  She wasn’t sure where the anger came from, only that it was there.

“Alright—keep an eye on her, though.”  The guard on the right shrugged as he shouldered by Alex.  “Be back in a minute Jeff.” 

The guard from the left, Jeff, grunted. 

Alex rolled her eyes and took a protective—or was it defensive?—step toward Lillian.

 

“Lillian—are you feeling alright to stand?”  Alex asked in the tone she’d been using with Kara less than an hour before. 

“Lionel loved funerals.”  Lillian murmured, her blue eyes still rather far away,

“In his line of work, they were always more like parties—A last hurrah for the old hats of the business.  A chance for them to show off their wealth while their partners got to air their true feelings for perhaps the first time around a bottle or two of brandy.  Lionel always said they were liberating.” 

Alex frowned, but said nothing. 

She didn’t really think Lillian was addressing her, exactly—but she felt it was important for the woman to get this off her chest.  So she would let her.    

Lillian’s jaw slowly clenched as she watched the mourners shuffling by her daughter’s casket.  Some stopped to leave their smudged fingerprints on the casket's lid, others broke down and cried--a few merely bowed their heads before hurrying away.    

“He had a strict policy against tears.  Even as he lay dying, and I held his hand, he—he made me promise not to cry.  He was always firm on that—Lena and Lex couldn’t be weak.  ‘There’s only one kind of heartbreak, Lillian,’ he always told me, ‘and Luthors are made of more than heart; you’ll survive.’”  Lillian chuckled wryly and shook her head. 

“I loved my husband, but—I don’t think he could have handled this.  The only heartbreak he ever lived to see was the crash of ‘08.”  Lillian said matter-of-factly.

 

Alex knelt carefully to be level with Lillian. 

 

“Lillian—are you alright?”  Alex asked.

Lillian’s blue eyes slowly roved down to the Director of the DEO’s face.  She took a breath, the vulnerability scurrying back behind her mask of enigma. 

“I asked for a copy of your posthumous report.” 

“Lillian, that isn’t—”

“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t let your people cut into her.”  Lillian snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously, “Not when you claim _so adamantly_ that she was killed by a foreign _alien_ substance.  It’s right up your alley, _Director_.”

“Alright, up ya get.”  The guard Jeff grumbled. 

He was growing tired of this _doom and gloom_ chatter and he gripped the prisoner’s elbow in an effort to drag her to her feet all the faster. 

Lillian didn’t resist. 

She rose to her feet, still glowering at the older Danvers girl, daring her to defy what they both knew to be true.

Alex’s jaw tightened, but out of the corner of her eye she had noticed that Eliza had finally gotten Kara to _move_.  She shook her head even as she sighed and bowed her head. 

“I will personally bring you a copy of all our findings as soon as I can.”  Alex promised. 

The hostility in Lillian’s face faded and she nodded curtly, a bit of the fight seemed to leave her shoulders.  She had to close her eyes against a stab of pain behind her eyes--a few tears slid free.

“Thank you.”  She murmured.

 

Across the lawn, Eliza had finally coaxed Kara to her feet and helped her toward the casket.  Kara was very aware of the press of her friends around her, especially Kal’s strength at her back, but she felt almost cut off from them. 

She cast a look over her shoulder, but Alex’s back was turned.

She supposed this time she couldn’t rely on her sister’s strength—she would have to _somehow_ find her own.     

Kara took a deep breath and forced herself to look down at her own distorted reflection in the black of Lena’s casket. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”  Eliza whispered, rubbing circles into Kara’s shoulders. 

Kara nodded, numb. 

Her glasses had fogged a little as she cried.  She took a deep breath as she reached up with a trembling hand to pull them away from her face.  Beside her, Kal shuffled a little closer as if to shield her out of habit, but Kara didn’t see the point.  There was no reason to hide now. 

This all came too late. 

It was more symbolic than anything.   

“Lena,” Kara murmured, her voice hollow and heavy as she forced the words from her lips.  She’d been unable to say them before.  She’d _tried_ , in those hours before Alex came to hold her and her own grief rendered her incapable of movement—of thought.  She’d _tried_ to find the inner peace she needed to whisper the prayer for the _dead_ , but she just couldn’t.  Because for all these days— _lifetimes_ —she couldn’t make herself accept that Lena was dead. 

It was unimaginable—unreal. 

But now—she couldn’t pretend anymore. 

She offered the words with the yellow sun that gave her no strength at her back, and the Luthor Mausoleum dark and patient before her, waiting to receive her friend, to hold her in its quiet forever--it was just waiting for Kara to let her go.    

“You—you were the sun of my life.” 

Kara kept her movements slow and deliberate as she lowered her glasses to wipe them clean with her tear-soaked Kleenex. 

“My prayers—”  Kara almost lost her breath and she had to swallow thickly.  “My prayers will be the sun that lights your way on your journey—”

 _Home._   Kara knew she was supposed to say ‘home’, but she couldn’t.  Lena’s home was _here_.  She _belonged_ here. 

“On your journey.”  Kara repeated. 

Her hands were shaking. 

She continued to wipe slow circles along the lenses of her glasses, forcing her grip to be gentle, her words to be soft,

“I—Lena, I will remember you in every dawn.  And—And I will await with great— _jubilation_ , the night when I will finally join you in the sky.”  Kara took a shuddering breath—she desperately wanted to scream.  To cry.  This _couldn’t_ be goodbye.   

“Rao’s will be done.”  Kal murmured gently, dropping his hand on Kara’s shoulder.  There was a finality to his words, to the sight of the ‘el-Mayarah’ reflected darkly on the sleek side of the casket--it seemed to smother all of the fight in Kara’s blood. 

She couldn’t pretend anymore— _this_ was her reality.  This was her home.  This earth.  And it was so, so _broken_.

Kara nodded, swallowing down the painful lump in her throat as she finally found the strength to accept it.  That Lena was dead. 

That this was goodbye. 

“Rao’s will be done.”    

She pushed her glasses back up on her nose.

 

 “Come on, sweetheart.”  Eliza nudged gently.  On her right, J’onn looked on with concern. 

Kara nodded again, and slowly turned away from the casket.  Somehow, her feet began to move, to take her away from the mausoleum.  Kara took a breath.  Then another and another. 

She didn’t stumble, even though her movements were mechanical. 

Kara lifted her eyes, and locked on Alex.

 

“There was something you said before.  In the visiting hall—” 

Lillian’s voice cut through Alex’s focus and drew her brown eyes back to the mourning Luthor.

“There’s something that’s been bothering me.”  Lillian continued solemnly. 

Alex frowned and regarded Lillian—her tone was very different now.  No longer distant and faint—there was something lurking.  Something that made Alex turn away from Kara and their friends to face Lillian fully. 

“What’s that?” 

Lillian’s eyebrows narrowed as she watched the Arias woman and her daughter return to the casket, as if they couldn’t bear to let Lena go without _one more_ goodbye, without _one more_ caress.    

“You freely admitted that neither you nor your— _sister_ were there when—for Lena’s final moments.”  Lillian murmured. 

The hairs on the back of Alex’s neck stood up and she clenched her jaw to combat the feeling.

“No, but we had a credible witness—”

“Exactly.”  Lillian cut back in, finally looking away from the casket—to reveal to Alex just how much rage burned in her eyes and curled her lip. 

“You said ‘a witness’—as in _only one_.” 

 

Alex’s eyebrows furrowed, a little taken aback. 

 

“Well, yeah—there was only one.” 

Lillian closed her eyes, her lips parting in a dubious smile as she let out an exasperated huff. 

“I thought as much.”

 

Alex’s attention was drawn by the sound of the drapery being torn down, and the wheels of the casket being tested as they prepared to take it away. 

 

“And is—that sole survivor here today?”  Lillian asked, her eyes slitting open.  Her blue irises burned, watching Alex for any kind of clue. 

“Yes.  She is.”  Alex growled, her lips barely moving.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

Lillian’s smile turned menacing and a dark shadow seemed to stretch behind her haunted eyes. 

“Nothing.  I just desired a quick word with her, if that would be—”

Alex snorted, her unease turning to sheer disbelief—of all the underhanded tricks—she’d called in _so many_ favors to ensure Lillian could even attend today.  It hadn’t been easy—she’d had to promise to personally ensure Lillian behaved herself, had ensured the president herself that she wouldn't give Lillian a free pass, that the woman would not for one moment forget that she was still a prisoner—a convicted criminal.    

“That is not happening.” 

Alex crossed her arms over her chest as she spoke, intent on glaring Lillian down—but when the casket bumped into one of the flower pots, tipping it over with a crash, her attention was once again diverted—and her eyes naturally and without her consent, found Eve still sobbing into Vasquez’s shoulder less than fifteen feet away, ahead of the rest of the small pack of mourners. 

And Lillian caught it. 

 

She was no longer smiling. 

 

“Look, I’m sorry, Lillian.  I am.”  Alex said as she turned back to Lillian, the conflict within starting to tug at her conscience all over again, “But there are rules.  I can’t just allow you to—" 

“Fools.”  Lillian muttered. 

Alex’s head snapped up.

“What was that?”

“Fools.”  Lillian spat, her lips curling in a sneer.  “All of you are _fools_.”

“Now, wait just a minute—” The gruff sounding guard reached out as if to touch Lillian’s shoulder, hoping to intercede and calm the ranting inmate. 

But as soon as his body shifted, Lillian elbowed him squarely in the gut. 

 

The beings with super-hearing heard Jeff’s audible ‘oof’, but were slow to lift their heads in their grief, slower still to make sense of what was transpiring at the top of the hill. 

 

Alex, however, was quick—which was what Lillian had been counting on. 

The much taller Luthor woman slipped under Alex’s initial grab and tripped her with the chains that Jeff hadn’t bothered to untangle yet.  They were heavy and thick, and Alex tripped over them—giving Lillian the perfect opportunity to snatch the gun from Alex’s thigh holster. 

“No wait!”

 

The commotion drew the attention of the mourners in their various stages of leave-taking, though none of them could rightly see what was going on—except for Kara. 

She lifted her head to see Lillian leveling Alex’s glock right at the huddled group.  

 

Her heart stopped.

 

“Lillian, no!”  Alex screamed as she launched herself from the ground, intending to tackle or otherwise hinder Lillian. 

 

Kara reacted just as swiftly, using a burst of superspeed to knock Ruby and Sam to the ground—cursing herself for not wearing her suit as she did her best to cover them with her body even as the shot rang out.  Ruby’s eyes were wide, but Sam’s were squeezed shut—she was shaking, sweat stood out on her forehead. 

“God, not again.”  Sam begged.

Behind Kara, screams rent the air, but she turned her head in time to see Kal covering both Eliza and Lois with his cape.  James had produced his Guardian shield to protect the officiant, Maggie, and the pall bearers.  And Kara was relieved to see Winn had lifted Iris out of harm’s way—

The screams came from Vasquez, trying to break free of J’onn’s strong grip.  Susan was screaming and clawing at J’onn’s arms—trying to get away, to get back to Eve—who had been right in the path of the bullet. 

Kara’s eyes widened—Eve was on the ground. 

 

“What the—what the _hell_ have you done?!”  Alex screamed, despair causing her voice to rise in pitch as she staggered to her feet. 

Barry had gotten to Lillian as quickly as he could, and had her pinned to the ground.  He'd slammed into her so unexpectedly, she'd bitten down on her lip as she fell, now it bled.

 

“You really aren’t suited to your promotion, you know.”  Lillian sneered at Alex from beneath Barry’s weight. 

The Luthor wasn’t resisting, but Alex didn’t care. 

She would have kicked her if she hadn’t pulled a hamstring when she’d fallen. 

 

“Why?!”  Alex demanded, angry hurt tears stinging the corners of her eyes.  She tried to rise, but crumpled with a hiss. 

Lillian was unmoved, there was genuine hatred in her eyes as she glared over at Alex. 

“If you would use your eyes, _Director_ —you would see that all is _not_ as it seems.  If you had just used your _senses_ from the start _none of this would have happened_!”  Lillian roared. 

 

“Eve?” 

Vasquez had managed to free herself from J’onn and approached the fallen woman cautiously, the urgency in her voice giving way to—frightened concern. 

The others followed suit, edging closer, shock slowly taking hold—there was no blood. 

Lillian had shot Eve, but there was no blood. 

No wound. 

Fragments of the bullet were clearly visible, shredded and gleaming against the dark black of her blouse.          

 

“It is the oldest rule in the book, _Director_.”  Lillian spat, “Never trust the word of the _last survivor_ …they’re either a _coward_ , or have something— _truly reprehensible_ to hide.” 

 

“Eve?”  Kara whispered, rising to her feet despite the heavy disbelief spreading through her chest. 

Even as she spoke, the blonde woman’s eyes flew open—but they weren’t Eve’s eyes. 

There was no recognition, no _humanity_ left in them. 

They burned a dark color of purple—dark like shadows and fear.    

 

Ruby screamed and several others jumped back in alarm—but Kara stood rooted to the spot.  Behind her, Sam had collapsed to rock back and forth in absolute terror—they both knew what this meant—even as Eve leapt to her feet with an inhuman shriek. 

No, it wasn’t a shriek—it was a _laugh_. 

The laugh of a Worldkiller. 

 

“No, no—not again!”  Sam begged. 

 

Kara stood frozen, her heart hammering red with dread and _disbelief_. 

She could _feel_ those same words screaming gold and horrible in her veins— _No.  No, no, no, no!_

But she couldn’t say them out loud. 

Her tongue tasted of ash—all the world around her had gone _cold._

 

 _No._ Her mind clawed back--

Time refused to shatter, so she _clawed_ at the memory herself, desperately trying to understand it, to make sense of--

 _Lena_.  There _had_ been a flash of green.  In the chapel, she—Kara had _seen_ green.  _Recognition._  

_No more pretending._

 

Supergirl, _the hero_ , she—she hadn’t killed the monster. 

Because it was grinning at Kara like a ghoul right out of the storybooks.   

Eve was the fifth Worldkiller—she’d been the Worldkiller _all along._

 

And Kara—Kara had killed her best friend.   


	24. Chapter 24

A revelation—can be a dreadfully devastating thing.

For Kara, understanding did not break through like a hopeful gleam of sun—no, she was sure she would never feel Rao’s light again—it was the edge of darkness sliding into place, instantaneous and absolute, snuffing out the last of whatever pitiful embers had been burning in her chest—that spark of life. 

_She had killed Lena._

She had no _moments_ to grow accustomed to the darkness.  It simply overwhelmed her.  Utterly and completely.   

There was nowhere to hide in this dark.

Everything Kara thought she had been, the essence of what she strived to stand for—in one moment it all fell away, crumbling to nothing but ash and dust. 

A flash of green.  _Lena._  

Shadows of terror purple.  _Lena was never the monster._  

In an instant the very foundation of her sense of self was cut away. 

And she fell to the ground.

 

For the others, the revelation was not _quite_ as cataclysmic. 

But it _was_ still terrifying.

 

“What the hell is that thing?!”  Barry gasped, when he _heard_ the laugh, and _saw_ the woman that had been shot rise in a slow, menacing manner. 

His feet stuttered as if he wasn’t quite sure where to run to.  He knew they were in danger, but Alex was frozen to his left—and everyone else seemed to be just as transfixed. 

Confusion rippled through the crowd—but it was slow to turn to fear, to send the onlookers running to safety.  Everyone seemed frozen in place.

Sam kept rocking back and forth, hiding in the dark behind her eyes. 

 

The Worldkiller didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest to have been caught out.  In fact, she looked amused as she gazed out at the impressive array of heroes and agents gathered before her—and the shriek turned into an almost _human_ giggle. 

“Oh, you should see the looks on your faces.”  The Worldkiller grinned.  She had lifted into the air to _hover_ , basking as the center of attention, “You really thought you’d won, didn’t you?  That is just _adorable_.”

The Worldkiller laughed again, loud and piercing.

 

It took several moments for the truth to sink in—many _breathless_ moments. 

All anyone could do was stare at the woman who had been sniffling alongside them mere minutes ago—the woman who had been talking about how _wonderful_ Lena had been, how _terrible_ the attack had been.  She had seemed so harmless, blending right in with the other mourners—grieving and shuffling along. 

But all of that faux sadness was gone now.  The face that sneered down at them was gaunt and cruel. 

But it was the dark delight in the eyes that truly betrayed the monster encased in Eve’s flesh.

 

 “Well don’t just stand there.”  Lillian said coldly, “ _Do_ something.” 

 

Alex shuddered, grim acceptance seeping into her bones.  She took a firm hold of Lillian’s empty chair and grunted as she tried to haul herself up to her feet,

“Bring her down!”  Alex shouted, wincing as the strained tendons in her left leg spasmed.

 

Alex’s voice shattered the breathless wonder of the sizable crowd, but Time began a cruel, unforgiving race. 

Heartbeats quickened and blood turned molten. 

Despair gripped some hearts, anger others. 

Adversaries clashed at inhuman speeds—and yet the fight that ensued seemed to _drag_ on, which produced a strange effect.

 

So many things were happening.  Simultaneously.  One small disaster right after the other.  Unrelated but incredibly close—

\--But these actions produced only devastating results. 

And there was no time to process—no time understand. 

All anyone could do was react. 

To the Worldkiller. 

To each other.

 

For instance, Maggie was the first to react to Alex’s words—pulling her weapon before Alex had even finished shouting. 

She was also the first to die. 

 

She and Vasquez appeared almost in synch, firing several rounds in quick succession, aiming for a creature already proven to be impervious to bullets—but Maggie was a fraction of a hairsbreadth quicker.  Her bullets exploded against the Worldkiller’s chest first. 

Their aim was not to kill, but to _distract_. 

 

It was only under cover of gunfire that the others were free to move.

And they did, spurred by the gunshot that was only a hairsbreadth quicker than the others that came screeching after it.   

 

“Get them out.”  Alex shouted as the first ‘ _pa-pop_ ’ rang out. 

She clutched Barry’s arm and pointed to Sam.  Ruby was in hysterics, trying to get her mother to _move_.  Iris had knelt to help.  

Barry’s jaw clenched in determination, “On it.”     

 

Almost at the same moment Barry’s outline flashed and disappeared, Kal-el lifted into the air to be level with the Worldkiller, preparing to attack. 

With each heartbeat that pounded out the micro-seconds, his resolve grew harder. 

He was determined to stop this.  All of it.  Before things got out of hand.

 

Things _were already_ out of hand.    

But how was he to know?  This was his first time facing a Worldkiller. 

But Kara—Kara had faced _five_ of these monsters.

Kal-el was determined to spare her any further suffering.  To take the burden himself this time. 

 

He wasted precious moments imploring Lois to take shelter—wasted another to breathe.  And _one more_ to square his shoulders, to absorb _just a drop more_ of sunlight. 

 

J’onn was far more frugal with his time. 

In those precious moments that Barry used to cross the yard and drop a hand onto Sam’s shoulder, that saw Maggie’s finger falter over the trigger as the pin clicked hollowly in an empty chamber, that found the El-Mayarah symbol flashing in the sun as Kal-el breathed in and out—J’onn was phasing into his true Martian form.

“You take right, I take left?”  J’onn asked in a low growl. 

Kal gave a confident nod and the two took off, heedless of Winn waving his arms to try to get their attention,

“No, no, no!  Wait!”  The Legionnaire screamed. 

 

They had already waited too long.

 

The bullets that distracted so beautifully ricocheted harmlessly off of the Worldkiller’s skin—but tore through her black blouse, peppering it with holes along the front and right side.  Shrapnel tangled into the shredded material.  Uncannily purple eyes flicked down to the damage and the Worldkiller’s thin eyebrows shot together.  She pursed her bloodless lips together.

“Rude.” 

 

Before Barry had slipped his arms beneath Sam to lift her away, before Kal had set his shoulders, or J’onn’s eyes had flooded red—

The Worldkiller struck with the precision of a snake. 

Maggie’s finger squeezed the trigger—but above the roar of blood in her ears, she could only hear an empty _click_.  In those precious moments, when Maggie’s eyes widened with the realization that she had already emptied her clip, the Worldkiller’s lithe fingers closed over the still smoking barrel. 

 

“Ta-da.”  The Worldkiller breathed as she crumpled the metal with a _crunch_.

 

She had moved with grace, almost _sensually_ , spilling like an oily black shadow and taking a wide, indirect route across the lawn.  At speeds only Barry and the aliens could hope to follow.  The bullets that had been fired after her went wild—but the Worldkiller had appeared in front of Maggie before any of them found a place to rest.  Embedding in a leg or shoulder.  Exploding against the walls of the mausoleum.  Pinging off of Lena’s casket. 

  

This feat in itself was enough to send the funeral guests into a panic.   

 

As the _crunch_ of metal rang out—the guard, Jeff, threw his hands in the air and fled. 

Others immediately followed suit, tripping over the foldable chairs and each other in a mad rush, desperate to get as far away from the monster as they possibly could.

 

Lois Lane tried to establish some kind of order—tried to stop the chaos from spiraling completely out of control.  She stood on the steps of the mausoleum, trying to rise above the madness.

James was right beside her, shouting himself hoarse.   

But even combined, their voices were not strong enough to cut through the panic.   

 

The Worldkiller paid them no mind—she was much more interested in fear she could finally see registering on the face of the woman who smelled like heartbreak.  Maggie barely had the time to scream, let alone raise a hand to defend herself before the Worldkiller had gotten behind her—slithered closer, so that their bodies were flush as she wrapped her arms around the feeble neck.

“Valiant effort.”  The Worldkiller crooned almost lovingly.  “You have earned—an honorable death.”

The words had only just settled, giving Maggie time only to take a sharp breath—when the Worldkiller flexed her arms and put the woman out of her misery. 

 

“Maggie!”  Alex screamed, jolting forward and stumbling with a cry of pain. 

 

As Barry sped by with Ruby in his arms, he carefully drew her head down onto his shoulder, hoping against hope that she hadn’t seen something so horrible.

 

The Worldkiller turned her head to gloat—she absolutely _loved_ this part—but was rudely blindsided by a flash of green at the exact moment she was smacked in the face by something red.  

 

Striking at the same time, J’onn and Kal managed to rip the Worldkiller away from Maggie, but they were moments too late. 

Her lifeless form simply crumpled to the ground. 

 

It was a sign of things to come—tragedy and disconnect.

 

Ten minutes ago, Kara had stood, raw and vulnerable, before Lena’s casket to whisper the Prayer of the Dead, finally willing to let her go.  To accept that this new dark and twisted reality was her punishment—for being dishonest and prideful and arrogant.  For not keeping her promises.    

And now—now everything that had been certain was undone. 

 

Even with their combined strength—J’onn and Kal could not contain the destructive _will_ of the Worldkiller.  She howled in outrage as she was clipped over and over again by the Green Martian who seemed hesitant to strike her directly—his attacks merely nudged her into the path of the broad-shouldered Kryptonian, the one who seemed startled by the sight of blood on his knuckles.  She wrestled with him, stretching muscles that she’d been forced to hide away or risk exposure—but she was growing less amused as the seconds strung together uninterrupted, and she recognized their ploy—to try to get her away from the crowds.  To isolate her.  Minimize the damage. 

With an indignant cry, the Worldkiller activated her laser-vision.   

 

And suddenly everything that _could_ be on fire— _was_.

Glass shattered and wood splintered.

Flames shot up from nothing and spread quickly. 

 

The longer the Worldkiller writhed, refusing to submit, the more screams rent the air.  

She set several rosebushes on fire and blasted the statuary, slowly but surely destroying every rock and tree and structure that could offer any cover.

 

Several guests hit the dirt, some just in the nick of time to avoid a painful blast—others, like the guard Jeff, were skewered with their backs to the monster, their eyes locked on the promise of escape. 

 

Despair spread like a swift shadow.

 

The Worldkiller’s shriek morphed into a laugh as she dislodged the Green Martian with a flick of her wrist.  The Kryptonian was a bit trickier, but she managed to block most of his blows as they moved at super-speeds across the lawn, kicking up dust and scattering chairs. 

His attacks weren’t—extraordinary. 

He was almost— _rusty_. 

Tentative.  

With a huff of frustration, the Worldkiller ducked under the Kryptonian’s punch and came up sharply just under his chin, sending him reeling. 

His recovery time was getting slower, as if he were not accustomed to fighting with the taste of his own blood on his tongue.

 

It was almost sad—their wretched attempts to stop her.

 

With a giggle, the Worldkiller dove right back into the screaming, scattering crowd of funeral guests, barraging them with bullets of ice and the occasional blast from her laser vision. 

She rather enjoyed this bit as well—causing sheer panic.

 

She was a blur, but the seconds ticked _slowly_ by—the heroes moved at great speeds, pushing themselves to rise to the challenge, to defend against the Worldkiller’s attacks.  But on the whole, they only seemed to add to the confusion. 

 

J’onn blinked and shook his head to try to shake off the ringing in his ears.  The frantic, desperate thoughts of the humans were almost— _overwhelming_.  His vision was shaky.  The guests looked almost suspended in water, their movements jerky and slow.

They ran from the flames. 

They ran from each other. 

They ran from the heroes emerging from the smoke to try to help them. 

They were getting nowhere, stuck in place, as time raced on without them.

 

Barry was a flash of hope, trying to give them a chance—but even _he_ couldn’t be everywhere at once.

 

“I’m telling you, we need the knife!  It’s the only way!”  One voice rose above all the others.

But sadly, no one seemed to hear it.

Not above the roar of the flames.  The cries of pain.  The rush of wind.  The screams of despair.  The laugh of the Worldkiller. 

 

There was _too much_ happening all at once.

 

Maggie was down.  Her body a point of stillness on the frenetic sea of flame and movement that the Luthor lawn had become. 

Eliza knelt over her, blood gushing from a wound on her shoulder as she cradled the body gently. Vasquez did her best to shield them, still firing at the silhouette of the monster as often as she could. 

The ricochets did more harm than good.

 

Up the hill, the guard lay dead. 

Tires squealed as the prison transfer van made a hasty U-turn and sped away, leaving the Luthor felon to face the ashes and smoke without the protective guard detail she had been promised. 

 

Alex was in hysterics, shaking Lillian by the shoulders and demanding if there was anything on the premises they could use—anything at all.  Flamethrowers.  Kryptonite.  A net.  _Anything_. 

 

The Worldkiller surveyed the damage she had wrought with the faintest taste of bitterness on her tongue. 

She was a little disappointed—that no worthy adversary had risen to challenge her. 

She had expected more from the heroes. 

The Green Martian was catching his breath and the male Kryptonian was too busy screaming and wailing and tearing at his hair as he stood over the body of Lois Lane to remember that he had been chasing her a few sobs ago.  There was the one they called Guardian, but he seemed more preoccupied with trying to shield the crowds than fighting her head on.  And there was one that moved at great speeds, vibrating at a frequency that was almost painful to her ears, but he and the ridiculous boy in the ‘Legion’ suit remained on the periphery.  She had yet to see the color of their eyes. 

There was one other—the one the Worldkiller had been most eager to meet. 

And fight. 

And conquer. 

But she had yet to show herself.

 

Tsking in disappointment, the Worldkiller shook her head and turned her back on the action for a moment, yanking a support column from the front of the Luthor mausoleum.  She weighed it in her hand.

The frightened prayers of one of the humans cowering behind the casket of Reign’s Bane, Lena Luthor, buzzed in the Worldkiller’s ear and she made a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat as she lifted her new weapon and brought it down with the intent to silence him—

 

“Watch out!”  The human hero weighed down by that odious metal suit cried out and leapt in front of the man who had presided over Lena Luthor’s funeral, struggling to lift his shield in a timely manner to deflect the blow—

 

She struck him over the head. 

The marble cracked, and the metal crunched. 

 

But it wasn’t _quite_ as satisfying, hearing the officiant shriek just beyond.  The Worldkiller pouted as the hero fell away and she made eye contact with the one he had died to save. 

Improvising, the Worldkiller gave the casket a sound kick, sending it flying with the fury of a battering ram to flatten the pesky officiant against the wall of the mausoleum, to rot next to the body of his Guardian. 

 

There was a gasp of outrage behind the Worldkiller and the Kryptonian came hurtling from the thickening smoke, both of his fists extended.  His eyes were wild, desperate and angry—but his heartbreak was choking what should have been pure rage, and his flight was shaky. 

 

The Worldkiller sighed as she swatted him aside. 

She was starting to get bored—and she _hated_ being bored.

 

Superman flew back in an exaggerated arc far over the heads of hero and agent alike, and crashed through the glass siding of the pool house. 

Rolling her neck from side to side, the Worldkiller carefully stepped out of her Prada heels—and started stalking up the hill after the hero.

If he wanted her undivided attention—she was glad to give it. 

The last son of Krypton recovered from his fall faster than humanly possible and appeared in the crater to meet her.  He was winded, but threw himself back into the fight, happy to keep the monster busy while Barry and Vasquez tried to shepherd everyone they could into the mausoleum—the only safe place. 

 

“Come on!  Move your asses, people!”  Susan shouted, supporting a dazed and badly broken James, while Barry made a detour to shove a stainless steel knife into Winn’s hands. 

“Here!  Knife!  Got it!”  Barry saluted and disappeared.

“No, no—wait!  We need _the_ knife, you—we need _the_ knife, not _a_ knife!”  Winn shouted in frustration—but in the middle of such pure, unadulterated chaos, no one heeded him.

 

In the same moments that Superman’s fists connected with the flesh of the Worldkiller and Barry tread over Winn’s cape in his hurry to show him what he had retrieved, Alex was pushing Lillian into the wrecked kitchen of the Luthor mansion—   

The mansion itself was mostly on fire, but Lillian stood completely unmoved next to the warped kitchen table as she watched Alex throw herself at the breaker box in the wall with a hatchet Lillian had dug up from under the rosebud.    

“You’re sure this will work?”  Alex demanded.  Her eyes were red and there were distinct tear tracts etched in the grime and smoke that had adhered to her cheeks. 

Lillian chose not to answer. 

 

She didn’t have much faith left, if she was honest. 

 

She would much rather spend her final moments here, in this kitchen, than out on the lawn watching her daughter’s casket burn.    

This had not been a frequent family gathering place _by any means_ , as they had various dining rooms for family meals, but the kitchen still held some memories. 

It was where Lex had first attempted to make kryptonite before Lillian had caved and raised his allowance so he could build his own lab beneath the house. 

Where Lena had stayed up late doing homework under Mercy’s watchful eye, tucked away from Lillian and her party guests on more than one occasion.

This was the table where they had discussed the family’s imminent ruin, in the hours following Lionel’s death.  Where Lex had vowed to do _whatever it takes_ to keep that from happening. He had slammed his fist on the table, the way his father used to do, to emphasize his point.  

Lillian remembered that Lena had cried.

“Alright—I got it!”  Alex crowed as she yanked a red wire loose. 

“Finally.”  Lillian muttered, turning her attention to the hand-to-hand duel that had taken to the skies. 

 

The punches and parries exchanged between the true Kryptonian and the genetically modified Worldkiller were delivered too rapidly to follow.  It seemed a sporadic, horrifying dance of sorts.  While snarls and grunts and the occasional drop of blood fell to the earth down below. 

The Kryptonian was fighting with everything he had left, a red and blue blur of furious fists and elbows—intent on capture, on lashing his cape around the Worldkiller’s ankle before she had a chance to escape, but the Worldkiller simply drew him higher and higher into the sky, grinning as she dodged his attacks.  Her curls flashed golden in the sun.  Kal’s ‘El-Mayarah’ symbol was significantly dimmed, the material caked in soot and blood. 

 

The Worldkiller laughed at his desperation.

Which _may_ or _may not_ have left her open to one or two more punches to the face than she would have preferred, but it was _so_ worth it. 

 _Mere minutes ago_ he had puffed his chest out at her, as if he believed the _El-Mayarah_ would make her quake—would tempt her _to surrender_.  And now his punches were wild and his movements more jerk-reactions to her own blows than anything else.

He needn’t have tried so hard.    

She had _no intentions_ of fleeing.

She was _finally_ starting to have fun again. 

 

She found the time between dealing and receiving blows to continually barrage the Luthor mansion and grounds with devastating blasts of her laser vision, relishing in the shock and flame.  

She grinned and she laughed—enjoying the game.

 

Until she realized that the screams had dulled from a roar to—to whimpers and hushed sobs.

Until she realized the lawn was no longer overrun with her targets. 

Her lip curled in distaste and the glow faded from her eyes as she slowly began to realize the strategy of the heroes confined to the ground—that the zig-zag of the red flash had not been entirely random.  That the combined efforts of the caped and non-caped heroes had managed to herd the bystanders into the mausoleum.

 

Even as the realization dawned on her, there was a tremendous crunch and crash—the sound of metal sheeting sliding into place. 

And just like that—the Worldkiller could no longer see the blood red outlines of her quarry, could no longer see each and every deliciously frightened heartbeat.  A heavy dome of lead now completely encased the mausoleum, blocking the entrance and any windows—as if _that_ somehow qualified as a defensive measure.  As if hiding from a predator of _her_ skill and ability was even possible. 

As if she could _ever_ be deterred from a hunt.

 

She growled, her eyes narrowing to slits as she glared through the smoke. 

 

And by something so flimsy?  It was ridiculous.  _Utterly_ ridiculous.

 

The Worldkiller had not intended to come out to play today, but the old Luthor woman had forced her hand—and she was never one to give up without finishing what she had started. 

 

And as if the lead shelter wasn’t enough of an insult, in the moments directly following this revelation, the Worldkiller caught the distinctive wailings of fire engines at the fringes of her heightened senses. 

 _That_ sent a violent jolt of frustration through her blood.

 

Letting out one final inhuman shriek, the Worldkiller extended her arms and started spinning, kicking up a wind storm in seconds.

 

The change in tactic took the Kryptonian completely by surprise and sent him veering off-course. 

With a triumphant scream, the Worldkiller chased after him, kicking him down with quite a bit of force. 

 

He crashed into one of the fountains on the lawn, cracking the foundation and sending up a spray of water that sparkled and gleamed in the sun—and lay still.  Water gushed all around him, spilling from the breach in the wall and soaking the earth at his feet. 

 

The Worldkiller touched down daintily on the scorched grass and stepped back into her heels, her nostrils flaring at the strong aroma of blood, sweat, and smoke.  She licked her lips. 

 

She only had a few minutes before police and rescue personnel arrived on the scene—but that was more than enough.     

 

The Worldkiller smoothed what was left of her blouse and lifted her burning purple eyes to the ragged assembly of heroes. 

 

They stood before the door to the mausoleum, next to the monolith that had already taken a hit from her laser vision. It had been jaggedly sliced in two, now simply proclaiming,

 

Lena K

1993 –

 

Just like the granite, the heroes themselves looked battered but _oh so determined_ to remain standing—as if they could not sense that they had already lost. 

Still, they must have learned _something_ from the last five minutes.  They now stood clustered together, not willing to turn their backs on her. 

But the fear was written all over them. 

 

Smoke tainted the air between them, and the flames danced ever closer.    

 

The Worldkiller took a deep breath, inhaling their despair, and lifted cold eyes from the shadows that danced like souls in torment. 

She tilted her head to one side.

 

“What have you done with her?”  She demanded, her voice carrying easily across the lawn.

 

When she received no immediate answer, she lashed out and grabbed the ankle of the dazed Kryptonian—and flung him without ceremony across the divide. 

 

He skidded and crashed through the scorched earth, letting out a cry of pain as he finally slammed into the marble steps of the mausoleum and lay still once more. 

 

“Clark!”  A strangled cry ripped from the lips of one of the heroes, and the Worldkiller watched with cold satisfaction as the pathetic formation imploded—those at the front having to turn, to stop the one in the legion suit from rushing forward—just enough for her to get a glimpse of what they were trying to hide—trying to contain.   

 

It was the younger Kryptonian—the broken godlet.  She was struggling mightily against the Green Martian’s grip. 

 

Kara, it seemed, had undergone a transformation of her own.

The Kryptonian’s eyes were wild behind her glasses—almost red with fury and deadly laser vision.  Every line of her face had deepened with grief and anger and it was _terrifying_.  The muscles in her neck and shoulders bulged with the strain.  Her hair had started to tumble free of her bun—she looked half-hero, half-devil. 

 

The Worldkiller smiled. 

 

“Ah, yes—there you are.”  The monster grinned.  “ _My hero_.”  

The Worldkiller lowered and squeezed her voice until it was Lena’s words carrying on the sickly sweet winds, taunting the Kryptonian who had come to this funeral clearly ready to give up.  She hadn’t even worn her cape. 

 

“Kara,”  Winn strained to whisper, still caught in Vasquez’s grip, “Remember what I told you—it’s going to be alright—just _wait_.” 

 

Hatred rolled off of Kara in waves and the marble beneath her feet had been crumpled and trampled down to a fine layer of dust, as if she had tried to dig her way out of her containment.   

Now she redoubled her efforts. 

J’onn’s arm was almost wrenched out of socket when Kara lunged forward.  He was yanked forward, and his feet broke through the marble as he dug in deeper, trying to hold Kara’s fury back—the glasses tumbled from Kara’s nose,

“I will throw her into the sun!”  Kara vowed in a furious roar, her eyes a terrifying, pure white. 

 

“Kara, no!  You can’t!”  Ruby cried from the other side of the lead barricade. 

Her words were punctuated with broken sobs and she threw her fists against the door until Eliza managed to pull her away and push her into the arms of Iris who held the girl close and did her best to cover her mouth as they shrank back into the frightened press of the others hiding behind the statues and busts of Luthor Legends.   

“Eve’s still in there!”  Ruby managed to get out before the others managed to stifle her, drawing her deeper into the dark. 

 

The Worldkiller hissed and threw her heel faster than a human could blink an eye, watching with contempt as the heroes all ducked—as if they expected her to be aiming at _them_.  There was a resounding thud as her shoe hit the lead barricade.

“No she’s not!  She’s gone!”  The Worldkiller snapped, anger making her voice slightly shriller.

 

“Don’t listen to her.”  Kal gasped as he struggled to rise to his knees.  He spat blood—every muscle in his body felt shredded, but the tension in his shoulders wasn’t from any attempt to ward off the pain—it was simply from grief. 

 

The Worldkiller let out a snarl and crossed the lawn at super speeds, in an instant standing over the older Kryptonian and slamming a heel into his back—

“Lies!” She hissed as she shoved her defeated opponent back into the dirt, “Eve is long gone!” 

 

But even before that dust could settle, before her words could sink in, there was a flash of green—the Martian flinging himself at the Worldkiller with the cry of battle he had not used in years on his lips.  The Worldkiller was so startled, she let out a squeak of surprise as the much larger alien slammed into her—knocking her off of Kal-el. 

 

“Ruby’s right, Kara!”  Alex wheezed as she dropped to her knees at her sister’s side.  She was part of the weakened formation, but could no longer support her own weight.  She used the Worldkiller’s distraction to try _one more time_ to reach her baby sister, 

“Eve’s still in there!” 

Tears fell freely from Alex’s eyes as she hovered over Kara—who was now held back by a pair of futuristic handcuffs.  Winn held Kara back, but he looked pained as he did so, and he apologized profusely for this betrayal. 

“I’m sorry, Kara—just hold on!  Barry’s coming!  It’ll be okay, just wait—”

 

Kara didn’t listen. 

 

She couldn’t. 

She was struggling with a rage far greater than Winn or even Alex could fathom, a pain no mortal could hope to understand—a demon formed of her own darkness.

 

“Will it?”  Lillian spat from just beyond the ripped and shredded lead door.  She didn’t see how holding onto such hopes could help them now—it certainly hadn’t helped her daughter. 

Eliza looked up from bandaging her badly burned hands to shush her.      

 

The Worldkiller and Green Martian exchanged quick, sharp blows.  Furious and well-placed.  The smoke swirled around them, and several of the smaller fires were snuffed out from the winds their movements produced.  But even so, they were deadlocked within seconds, each trying to drive the other into the ground. 

 

After taking a quick breath, the anger suddenly lifted away from the dark curvature of the Worldkiller’s features and she turned her head to smile, deadly sweet, at the Kryptonian she would much rather be fighting,

 

“Why do you think I chose her?”  The Worldkiller crooned, trying to mask the slight catch to her voice. 

She had managed to hold her own against everything the heroes had thrown at her thus far, but the blows she had suffered were finally starting to register.  The adrenaline she generally felt when causing mayhem and bloodshed was starting to wear off, and even holding the Green Martian at bay for a few seconds was an ordeal.  Her eyes flickered white—but she didn’t have the strength for laser vision.    

For the first time—she felt sweat on her brow.

 

“This human was weak,” The Worldkiller continued, wincing as the Martian landed another punch, this time to her kidney, “not like _Lena_.  No, Lena was far too strong.  She would have fought me too much, I think.  I wanted to get out and play right away—so I needed a more pliant host.”  

 

Kara let out another inhuman scream and tried _again_ to get away from her _supposed_ friends, knocking Alex flat. 

 

She needed an _ending_. 

 _Rao_ , was that too much to ask?!

An end to the pain and guilt and hate and _torment_ in her chest.  Either she would _take_ it with bloodied, wretched hands, or the Worldkiller would have to give it to her. 

Neither of them were walking away from this—Kara knew it.

There was no one left to save—not even herself. 

 

As Alex stumbled to try to regain her footing, her steel-toed boots ground Kara’s glasses to dust.

 

“Get off of me!”  Kara screamed. 

She _hated_ nothing more than the wretched, empty beating of her own heart. 

_Look what I’ve done, Lena—how could you ever forgive me?_

“Kara, wait—Barry’s coming!”  Winn begged in the same moment Barry’s form flickered and solidified at his side—

 

“Don’t give in to hate, little one.  _Jahghah_.”  Kal gasped as he somehow managed to lift over the marble steps and stagger to Kara’s side, he dropped a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away with a snarl as if his touch burned her skin. 

 

Behind him, only feet away, the Worldkiller let out a squeal of triumph, and everyone turned to watch in shock as J’onn crumpled to the ground. 

A moment ago—he had had the upper hand. 

But in a blink—in the time it took to look back, everything changed. 

 

For a moment, no one moved.  No one breathed. 

Everything went still.

 

It lasted _forever_ —it was only two heartbeats.  Three. 

 

Then the Worldkiller’s purple eyes landed on the blade in Barry’s hand as she was stepping over the Green Martian’s smoking remains and her face broke out into a grin. 

“Oooh!  Are we going to have a duel?  I love duels!”  She clapped her hands gleefully.

 

“Shut up!”  Winn shouted with as much force as he could muster around the horrible lump in his throat—he felt he was choking on smoke and tears. 

But his weak voice was not enough to drown out the Worldkiller’s final words,

 

“So, will you be using _the knife_ you used to kill Lena, or—”

 

Time seemed to stumble—only for a _moment_ , not long enough to shatter or otherwise change course, but for a _moment_ —Time stumbled and fell away. 

The emptiness that took the place of its tick, of its heartbeat, of the relentless _slap, slap, slapping_ as it raced along the pavement—was filled with the incredibly powerful _roar_ that tore itself from the depths of Kara’s broken, tattered soul.

It filled the stillness, the void, the darkness—everything empty, was suddenly overflowing.  Engulfed.  With Kara’s torment that she could no longer contain. 

 

The broken godlet ripped through Winn’s restraints and blasted through her friends, knocking several of them over before they had even had the chance to cry out at J’onn’s loss.   

 

 

“Kara, no!”  Alex screamed,

And Time began to race again. 

She reached out for her sister but only felt wind through fingers.


	25. Chapter 25

The battles before on the grounds of the Luthor estate had been _mere child’s play_ compared to the fury of the chase that ensued.  

Two incredibly powerful beings lifted into the sky, leaving the smoke and despair of National City far behind.

The Worldkiller sped faster than she had ever pushed her form in her short life—and Kara followed mere nano-seconds behind.

 

They circled the globe.  And circled it again.

 

All this time, Kara’s rage and desperation had been building. 

Not just as she’d watched others fighting the fifth Worldkiller in her stead—it had begun long before that.  Long before the chapel.  Long before she’d spilled Lena’s blood.

She didn’t know when exactly—it became less and less important to pinpoint the exact day or hour or _moment_ as she chased after her ending. 

That was all that mattered now—not _when_ it had started, only that it would _end_. 

 

Everything that she had been bottling up inside for months was unleashed, an ever-growing cloud of debris and anger and loneliness and fury billowing behind her.  It grew so heavy—so large that it seemed to block out the sun.

Kara zoomed over forests so quickly, their leaves were stripped and added to her storm. 

Windows shattered in her wake. 

Still waters boiled. 

She clipped many landmarks—without her cape, turning was an issue.  She barely avoided pyramids, and flew right through several skyscrapers. Those were moments of panic--that she had lost her way. 

That finding it again would _waste time_.  

 

But the Worldkiller had this problem as well. 

 

Every little stumble brought them closer together. 

 

And Kara was _desperate_ to get her hands on the Worldkiller. 

To throw her down into the ground—she had decided that if she couldn’t get a good enough hold on the Worldkiller to drag her into space to fling into the sun, then she would settle with throwing her down deep enough into the earth to drown her in its molten core. 

 

These dark thoughts were her only companions as they circled the globe a third time. 

And all the while she chased the Worldkiller, Kara roared. 

 

She didn’t stop roaring until her fingers closed around the Worldkiller’s throat. 

She didn’t know where they were, or how long they had been in the air, how many times she had flown over the Sudan or nearly crashed into the Atlantic—a moment was all it took.  A moment for the Worldkiller to look back, to see the cloud of darkness and rage swirling around Kara—and falter. 

And then it was over. 

A moment was all it took. 

 

Kara’s cloud of darkness outpaced her, and she was knocked out of the sky by a car that had been caught up in her storm, but she didn’t fight it. 

She fell—and this time she dragged the Worldkiller with her. 

 

Anticipating Kara’s next move, the Worldkiller’s eyes burned white even as she was roughly slammed into an unknown mountaintop, this one gritty and jagged, free of snow—the impact immediately cutting a deep crater and sending tremors throughout the range. 

 

There was a terrible flash, powerful and blinding, as the beams of the monster and hero met. 

 

Kara hadn’t been at the DEO when it happened—she should have been at L-Corp, saying the things that mattered most while she still had the chance. 

_We did this, Lena—we both did.  It’s not about right or wrong.  Not anymore.  But we can still fix it.  It’s never too late.  Please, I want to fix it.  I miss you too.  I—I love you.  I miss you.  Let's fix this._

And that realization had built up into a scream so miserable and desperate that it tore her to pieces every time it left her hollowed out chest. 

Kara used it now—

 

She screamed into the face of the Worldkiller with such force that the rubble cushioning her head seemed to melt and seep into the cracks of the stronger bedrock beneath. 

 

She screamed because words had failed her.  She had no use for them now.

 

Kara screamed until she was coughing up blood. 

 

She screamed until she no longer felt invincible blinking into the eyes of a dazed and limp Worldkiller. 

 

For a moment—Kara felt her purpose. 

One more scream and she knew this would end. 

 _One more_ would be the end of her. 

 

And judging by the blood gushing from the Worldkiller’s nose, Kara doubted the Worldkiller could either.

 

One more scream would absolutely and irrevocably carve out all that was left of the muck that had clotted together in the recesses of her rotten heart; loneliness, anger, loathing, revulsion, vanity, pride, her confidence in her bad decisions—she would carve it out and fling it back at the monster she had become.  She was only hatred.  And violence. 

She destroyed.   

 

She was no hero. 

 

Indistinctly—far away and shapeless, Kara heard someone calling to her.

She was barely conscious of the rocks cutting into her knees, let alone Kal straining to keep her hands from closing around the Worldkiller’s throat, shouting again about Eve, an innocent life hidden somewhere beneath all the darkness and hate.  Or Alex sobbing and pleading at her side, begging Kara to hear her—to know that she was sorry.  That she loved her so, so much.  Alex reached out to brush a curl from her sister’s wide open but unseeing eyes. 

 

She had no sense of self, no purpose, until someone pushed the jagged hilt of the dagger back into her hand—it was familiar. 

But different.  Somehow.  Heavier.

 

This time, it _was_ ceremonial. 

The glowing glyphics twining through the three sigils in the dagger blade made that very clear;

To unmake a soul so dark and terrible—an equally terrible sacrifice must be made.

What began in blood, must end in blood.

 

It was almost poetic. 

But not quite. 

 

It wasn’t about vengeance.  Or hollow justice. 

How could anything truly good.  Or truly just. 

Come from all of this? 

 

Blood of the innocent, pure as Light.

Blood of the avenger, tragically true in aim—

The white of _ighai_ and the red of desperate, selfish passion mistaken for _tahrao_ ;

And Blood of the creature, come to snuff out the world flame.

Only when brought together may Hope spark anew, and banish the shadow from every conceivable plane.

 

Kara wondered, fleetingly, if the ritual would still work if her blood offerings were tainted with the tears of the fallen hero.    

But she didn’t really care. 

 

She gripped the dagger tightly and lifted it high.

 

They were beyond poetry and potions and promises now. 

They were at the end. 

 

The Worldkiller stirred, weakly, little more than a jolt beneath Kara’s crushing grip. 

 

But even so—

In that moment, with the dagger back in her hand, her skin burning with fever, Kara was gazing down at Lena again.  It was her face Kara saw. 

And when those eyes flashed green and perfect, Kara heard Lena speak,

_Supergirl couldn’t save me; but Kara Danvers, you, are still my hero._

 

 

Kara let out a ragged breath and brought the dagger down—this time _gently_ , and pressed the tip against the hollow of the Worldkiller’s throat.

 

The lash back was almost immediate—no, it _was_ immediate. 

And _seismic_. 

 

The Worldkiller screamed, convulsing as if electrified kryptonite had replaced the blood in her veins—a thick purple smoke started to lift away from the body, to form the outline of some other creature, something deformed and cruel. 

It was writhing, struggling to hold its shape, to fight the rising winds and _linger_ while the body it had vacated went still.  The smoke creature reached out a single tendril, a finger, trying to cling to the body of the host, to its chance at life—at triumph. 

But Kara gritted her teeth and stood, slicing through the indistinct shape with the glowing knife—the spirit of the Worldkiller exploded with a sickening ripping sound.  The smoke dissipated without a trace.  Without another sound. 

Taking with it Kara’s will to keep her eyes open.   

 

Somewhere, beyond the smoke, the sun was still shining. 

 

Kara couldn’t feel it. 

She gave in gladly to the darkness. 

 

 

Dimly, several ragged breaths later, Kara heard Eve’s voice. 

 

“Oh, thank you!  Thank you, I—God, that was—that was so awful, I was just—I was in there for so long, just screaming and screaming, and—I was starting to think you’d never hear me!”


	26. Chapter 26

Kara was unconscious for approximately three hours and fifteen minutes after banishing the Worldkiller to a dimension beyond the plane of sacred flame. 

 

But if she were perfectly honest, she had made up her mind about what to do long before Lena’s funeral had fallen to pieces.

She had just lacked a key element. 

She’d been driven to the absolute dregs of despair—foolishly thinking she couldn’t fall any further.  She’d needed a reason to hope for something else. 

And that reason was the point of no return. 

 

“You know, I—I know this has been awful.”  Iris had tried to talk to Kara after she’d awoken in the DEO med-bay and tried to strangle Winn.  “But when something…like _this_ happens, Barry always manages to make me feel better—by reminding me that, there are millions of universes out there.  Just like ours, but different.”

Her voice had trembled with a grief they were only just starting to understand.  She had looked shell-shocked.  They all did.

“So—no matter how bad things get—”  She had had to wet her lips.  Her words had sounded choppy.  “I can always think about the other possibilities out there.  Somewhere, there’s an Earth where—where Barry’s parents never died.  Where _your_ parents never died, and Krypton never exploded.  And somewhere out there, there’s an Earth where Lena never—”

Iris had trailed off when Kara had turned her head to blink at her. 

Slowly, Iris had withdrawn her hand, fresh tears filling her eyes. 

“Kara, I’m sorry, I just—I thought it might help!”  She had wailed.

Kara hadn’t tried to strangle her, as she had Winn. 

She’d simply blinked, too numb to feel the edges of her own frown. 

“Thank you.”  She called softly as Iris ran sobbing from the room.

 

Two hours and thirty-six minutes later, as Kara stepped from Winn’s shuttle onto the deck of the Legionnaire ship, she was still mulling over Iris’s words. 

Kara too, might once have taken comfort in the multi-verse theory. 

It might have once been a blessing to know there was a softer Kara out there who had never accepted the responsibility of the dagger.  Who had never let the most important friendship in her life burn to ashes.  Who had never become the very monster that had set it aflame.

 

But this time, she couldn’t. 

 

She didn’t care if another Kara on another Earth might have said those things this Kara on this Earth had been too afraid to.  She didn’t care if there was a Kara out there that still lived on Krypton and a Lena that had never known Luthor malice.

Those Karas and those Lenas could be happy.  Kara hoped they were. 

But _this_ was the Earth she had to live with. 

And the events of the last few hours had completely altered Kara’s perception of just how much she could afford to lose.  It wasn’t just that she’d lost Lena—it was that in her arrogance and stubbornness, her secrets had _killed_ Lena.  And in killing Lena, Kara had lost herself.  

Not just pieces—but _everything_. 

 

If _this_ was the Earth Kara had to live with, she was going to get _her_ Lena back. 

 

“Could I trouble you to slow down?  You’re not really making any sense—”  Brainy’s voice cut through Kara’s numbed senses and she tried to focus on the moment.  On where she was standing. 

She was so lost in her own body, her own mind—it was difficult to stand still, and she swayed slightly. 

“What do you mean you’ve been locked in a—”  Brainy paused as his eyes lifted from his tablet to land on Kara standing just inside the docking bay.  

Slowly, the blue-skinned Coluan lifted his hand to mute the frustrated ravings of Winn coming through the device in his ear and he rose from his piloting chair.

 

“Kara?”  It was both a question and a greeting. 

 

“Where’s Mon-el?”  Kara asked. 

She was still having trouble speaking, after the strain she’d put on her vocal cords—it was why she’d only kissed Alex on the cheek by way of goodbye. 

It was her excuse for giving no explanation. 

 

“I’m here.”  Mon-el called as he hurried into the cockpit. 

A relieved smile softened the deep worry lines in his forehead and he wrapped his arms warmly around Kara, “It’s good to see you.” 

“You said I could come.  If I needed to—talk.  Or anything.”  Kara said, lifting a hand gingerly, but not really returning the hug.  The cabin was bright, and Kara’s eyes felt as if they were throbbing, hyper-fixating and then blurring a small splotch of scoring on the far wall. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”  Mon-el said eagerly, he had draped an arm over Kara’s shoulders and ushered her toward the corridor, hoping to take her across the bridge to the less crowded deck.

“Anything.  Anything at all; you name it and I’m happy to help.”  He assured her.

Kara walked numbly beside Mon-el.  She had hoped he would say that—but then again, she didn’t have a very good track record when it came to keeping promises. 

Kara took a breath.

“I need you to take me back in time.”  Kara said evenly. 

For the first time in what felt like years, words caused her no pain.

 

Mon-el’s eager expression immediately faltered and he froze.  “Oh—well, that’s…”

“Impossible.”  Brainy offered pointedly. 

He had followed the pair at a courteous distance, fingers steepled together and expression neutral. 

“Yeah, I mean—no.  Brainy, could you—could you give us a minute?”  Mon-el asked, rubbing at his forehead as he shot his companion a disgruntled look. 

“I suppose I could—re-establish communication with Winn.  To, reassure him that we—won’t be—leaving him.”  Brainy said with his usual caution. 

“Yeah, okay.”  Mon-el waved Brainy off, not truly realizing that he had started to pace. 

 

Kara’s eyes followed Mon-el, but she remained standing where she was. 

She wasn’t going to be dissuaded, no matter what he said. 

 

“Kara, listen—I, I know you’re probably really angry right now, and that anger is—it’s okay to feel it.  You’ve been through a—a hell of a lot, and I understand that things might seem unfair and—pretty hopeless, but if you just give it time—”

“Will you help me or not?”  Kara cut through his words without heat, without blame. 

She was done blaming others for her mistakes. 

“Kara, it’s—complicated.”  Mon-el hedged, rubbing at the considerable beard growing along his chin.

“Complicated.”  Kara repeated—more to remind herself of its taste than anything else.  It seemed such a small word for the task ahead. 

“Yeah, _complicated_.”  Mon-el shot back, a little anger creeping into his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest, “There are rules, you know.  Intergalactic regulations.  Time is a fragile thing, Kara, the more you tamper with it, the worse the consequences.  You change one little thing, and a thousand disasters take its place.”

_I don’t care!_   Kara wanted to scream.  _We’re wasting time!_

But she didn’t. 

 

She simply nodded, watching the way Mon-el’s Legion ring caught the light.

 

“So why did you come back?”  Kara asked, looking up only when Mon-el didn’t answer right away. 

His face had paled slightly.

“Kara, you have to understand—everything we do, it has to be approved.  There’s a process.”

Kara nodded.  She understood there was an order to things.  There were processes and protocols, rules and regulations that were supposed to keep people safe.  Minimize damage.    

But Kara wasn’t about to let them hold her back. 

 

She took a small step toward the Daxamite,

“That doesn’t answer my question.”  

 

Mon-el wet his lips and held up his hand, as if offering Kara something—an apology.  An excuse.  It really didn’t matter. 

“We couldn’t come back sooner, Kara.  I’m not sure if Winn got the chance to explain—”

“Oh, he tried.”  Kara said dryly—words were starting to hurt again. 

And that was a blow in itself. 

She _had_ to be able to speak—to be understood.  She _had_ to be able to say the words when she got back to Lena. 

 

Mon-el looked a little taken aback by Kara’s candor, but he forged ahead,

 

“We had already changed too much.  With Reign.  This reality—the integrity of this timeline was compromised.  We saved the future when we stopped Pestilence, but there were unforeseen consequences.  The future we went back to, it was _completely_ different Kara.  We were only granted permission to come back a second time because we promised not to interfere directly…”

Mon-el trailed off as he watched Kara. 

She had crossed to gaze through the glass paneling out at the Earth so far away. 

There might have been a time when he would have known with one glace what she was thinking—but _so much_ had changed since then. 

There was a hardness to her now that frightened him. 

 

“Kara—”  Mon-el’s voice faltered and after a moment’s deliberation, he committed to taking a step toward her, “I know you must hate us for not coming back sooner, but—this was our _only_ option.  Even if we weren’t so concerned with the weakened state of this reality, there were other things to consider.  If we’d tried to stop Lena from working on the Harun-el, there was a significant risk to exposing your identity and throwing the world into another war like Lex and Kal had.  We couldn’t—we couldn’t let that happen.  And if we had come back simply to expose the true Worldkiller too quickly, Brainy deduced that she would have had no reason to keep Lena alive as long as she did—and we couldn’t be sure how that would affect your—mental state when fighting her in the end.  And you _barely_ survived as it was—we couldn’t risk it.  I promise you, we calculated the costs to benefits carefully.  We had to make sure that you banished the essence of the Worldkiller, she—well, she could have been worse than Pestilence, Kara.  Maybe even worse than Reign after she absorbed her sisters’ powers.  She had _limitless_ destructive potential.  We’re talking _catastrophic_ loss of life.  Devastation the world over.  Stopping her was the most important thing.  We—we _had_ to let things take their natural course.” 

Kara took a deep breath and braced for the pain of her words,

“You miscalculated.” 

Mon-el froze at that, looking more than a little unsure as he gazed at the Kryptonian.

 

Kara thought she had known grief—it was really Mon-el who knew nothing at all.

 

Kara ran a hand through her matted curls and turned her back on the Earth.  It had grown small.  A mere shadow of home.  Cold and unfamiliar. 

“I don’t hate you, Mon-el.  I understand that—you were only trying to do—what you thought was right.”  Kara could taste blood in the back of her throat—another scream, and she closed her eyes for a moment, fighting it.

“You made your decisions—and I’ve made mine.”  Kara whispered, having to clench fists to remain in control. 

 

“Kara,” Mon-el began again, truly hurting for his friend, “I’m sorry.  I really am.  But I told you, I can’t—”

 

“I may have made an error.”  Brainy interrupted, coming around the corner once again.  He held his hands up in apology as he stepped into view. 

“An error?”  Mon-el repeated, his brow furrowing in bewilderment as he turned his back on Kara to glare at his comrade.  “What kind of error?”

 

“Well, as you know, I used a complex algorithm to determine our probability of surviving this venture while inflicting the least amount of damage to this timeline—and I factored in several common denominators that I believed to be constant and stable.”  Brainy explained, “Some of these factors were quite obvious, such as the force of Earth’s gravity which has remained unchanged since the dawn of—”

“Gods, Brainy!  Could you just cut to the chase?”  Mon-el interrupted, frustration plain in his stance. 

Brainy did not appear offended.  He simply clasped his hands together and tilted his head slightly to the side,

“In all of my calculations, I aligned Kara’s interests with our own.  More specifically, I made my predictions under the assumption that Kara had a vested interest in preserving the integrity of this timeline—but given her actions in the last few hours, I believe I may have made a grievous miscalculation.”  Brainy finished gravely. 

“Wha—what are you talking about?”  Mon-el demanded, “What actions?” 

 

Even as Mon-el asked this, several sirens began blaring throughout the cabin of the ship.

Mon-el spun around, his eyes widening when he saw that Kara had vacated her position near the window. 

 

“Well, for one thing, she stole Winn’s Legion ring and stuffed him in a containment cell in the DEO.”  Brainy observed dryly. 

“What?!”  Mon-el spun around and started running down the hallway, blinking against the angry red of the alarms.  He told himself that this wasn’t happening—Kara wouldn’t—she _wouldn’t_. 

 

“And from the looks of it, she has locked us out of the cockpit.”  Brainy stated as Mon-el threw himself against the door.  It was pressurized and very clearly locked. 

“Kara!”  Mon-el shouted, banging his fist against the blast doors.  “Kara!  What are you doing?!”

 

“I do believe she is stealing our ship.”  Brainy noted with a subtle tinge of respect in his tone.

As if to punctuate this statement, the entire ship gave a tremulous shudder. 

Mon-el almost lost his balance.

“Yeah, I can see that.”  Mon-el hissed as he took a step back and tried kicking the door down with very little success.

“Kara!  Kara, you can’t—you can’t do this!  Open the door!  You know I can’t let you do this!  Kara, this is a _Legion ship_ , you can’t just—Kara, let us in!” 

 

On the other side of the door, Kara was doing her best to ignore Mon-el’s cries and focus on the task ahead.  She supposed, deep down, that she had known Mon-el wouldn’t be able to give her what she needed. 

Nothing could ever be that easy.

But she hadn’t expected it to be. 

 

She couldn’t rely on the Legion.  Or the DEO. 

This was something only she could do. 

 

She had really only come here to confirm her suspicions—and Mon-el had done more than that.                               

An unstable timeline meant there would be rips and tears— _anomalies_.

Kara felt her heart start beating faster as she gazed at the radar—there were _hundreds_ of them.  Each one a danger.  Darker than stars, and with no discernible pattern.  Some merely flickered on the radar and then winked out. 

But there were many that remained.  That beckoned.  Close to the sun.

Each one was a possible doorway—a doorway back to Lena.       

 

“Kara, the moment you deviate from course, we’ll have Disciplinary Drones on our tail—you _don’t_ want to mess with the council!  You won’t make it back thirty minutes before they’ve blasted us!  Kara, listen to me!  This ship is property of the Legion and it’s staying _right here_!”  Mon-el shouted, slamming his fist one final time against the door to make his point.    

He huffed in anger when he got no response and turned to glare at Brainy.

“Can’t you lock her out of the system?”  Mon-el demanded. 

 

Brainy sighed and crossed to the wall, placing his palm against the nearest access panel. 

“I can _try_.”  The Coluan murmured. 

Brainy’s eyes drifted shut after a moment and slowly his eyebrows furrowed together.

“I—I don’t think she’s trying to take us out of lunar orbit.”

“What?”  Mon-el stepped closer to his colleague, as if that could get him answers faster.

“She hasn’t tried to override the stabilizers—”  Brainy muttered, his eyes flickering wildly beneath his closed eyelids, “I don’t—I don’t think she’s trying to steal the ship at all.  She’s just—wait—wait, she’s—oh dear.”

Brainy’s eyes flew open and he took a step back as a shower of sparks rained down from just above the access pad.  Brainy pulled his hand back as the screen cracked and steamed. 

“What?  What is it?”  Mon-el demanded as the alarms throughout the ship cut out. 

For a moment, even the thrum of the engines beneath their feet faltered—but then the generators kicked in and the low power lights flickered to life, emitting a soft, orange glow. 

 

“What happened?!”  Mon-el demanded, rounding on Brainy with panic in his voice. 

 

“She transferred all engine power to the escape pods—I believe she intends to set a course for the space anomaly we have been monitoring approximately 12 klicks from—” 

“No!”  Mon-el let out a strangled scream as he threw himself at the door to the cockpit with new vigor.  “Kara, don’t!  It’s too dangerous!  You can’t control where those things will take you!  They’re unpredictable!  You’ll never make it!  Please, just—just let me in, we can talk about this!”  

 

Kara didn’t want to talk about it.

She didn’t _need_ to talk.  She needed the coordinates to the closest space anomaly.  She needed a pod to get her as close as it could—and she needed Winn’s Legion ring to keep her breathing when the pod failed.

It was a simple enough plan—simple and incredibly flawed.  She knew that. 

She didn’t care.

She’d been cheated out of her ending—given a sliver of hope.  And now she was running with it.  Running back to Lena. 

She didn’t know if she would make it. 

But she knew she had to try.

She couldn’t bare to spend another minute in this version of _now_.

          

Kara’s hands shook slightly as she stepped into the escape pod, old fears somehow working around the edges of her numbness and making this all feel—not surreal exactly, but _heightened_. She was operating in the grey.  Where everything was almost too much for even her Kryptonian body, too much for her to feel.  The fear was a dull ache behind her eyes.  Barely a twinge. 

Kara squeezed herself into the small alcove.  And managed to pull the hatch back into place.    

She didn’t bother strapping in, all systems indicated this would be a short journey—less than three minutes at super speeds.   

 

“Kara!” 

Mon-el somehow managed to pry the cockpit doors open and sped as quickly as he could to the docking bay, Kara’s name on his lips—but he could only drop to his knees and blink against the brightness of the sun streaming in through the empty shaft.

He was moments too late. 

 

Kara however, was once again enveloped in a sea of quiet—it was maddening. 

And _comforting_ at the same time. 

 

All around her, there were miles and miles of darkness and loneliness. 

Space was so _vast_.  So _empty_. 

Kara leaned her head back and allowed herself a shaky breath. 

She wasn’t afraid.  This was all familiar.  It was what her grief had felt like.  Overwhelming.  No light.  No end.  Just drifting.  Alone.  Vast.  Empty. 

 

It would be so easy—to get lost out here. 

To drift. 

      To forget.

            To close her eyes and dream.  Of everyone she’d lost. 

 

The ache behind her eyes started to throb.  And Kara closed her eyes for a moment— _just long_ _enough_.  Long enough to recall Lena’s face.  Her smile.  The sparkle in her eyes and laughter in her voice as she’d asked,

_What do you know about Quantum Entanglement?_

 

Kara’s next breath came smoother.  No tremor.  No tears as she blinked her eyes back open. 

Her lips stretched into the ghost of a smile as she banked 30º to the right, hands steady and heart open.

_Enough._   Kara would tell Lena when she finally saw her again.  _Enough to know that I will find you.  No matter what it takes._  


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is.  
> The time travel chapter!  
> I know it's been a long time coming, and I'm sorry for that. I have rewritten it a profuse number of times, and even though I'm still not completely happy with it and probably need to apologize in advance to literally everyone with a better understanding of time travel, I think this is the version that best fits this particular story. I hope you like it.

Space was vast.  But there was a horizon. 

Kara could see it.  It was her very purpose.  Her destination. 

 

The emptiness of space had come apart at the seams, folding and rupturing and giving shape to what had before been smooth and unbroken.  To what had seemed hopelessly empty. 

The yellow sun that had always given Kara strength was only visible in fragments—it was _so far_ away.  A glimmer.  A flicker. 

And all around it, _rifts_ puckered from nothing and nowhere.  

They were jagged and yawning with hunger.  There were cracks in the waves of darkness—cracks emitting flame or simply a glimpse of hazy objects, unidentifiable and massive.  Whole other worlds.  There appeared to be psychedelic pathways forming and breaking between the stars all those light years away, flashing with what could only be described as malice just beyond Kara’s periphery. 

It was as if Kara was sailing along the fringes of a mighty electrical storm.  And her anomaly—the one she had chosen for its faint green color, the one she prayed would take her back to Lena—it was hidden somewhere in its center.

 

In the cockpit, it was still quiet.  Breathless.  Hard to feel time.

But Kara was counting anyway.  Counting down the seconds.  Because it wasn’t only a matter of distance anymore.  Between herself and the anomaly.  Or even between remembering and forgetting. 

It was Time. 

Time between her pain and Lena’s smile.  Seconds.  Hours.  Eternities. 

It was impossible to be precise, but she had to try. 

Because even if she could no longer feel time—she had to keep believing in it.

 

What was it Romeo had said?  _I defy you stars._

 

Kara had reached second 114 when the pod began to shake violently. 

The tear she had chosen, her horizon—it was strong and growing.  Pulsing with energy and widening like a gate. 

But there were hundreds of others that weren’t so welcoming.  They crumpled in upon themselves violently.  Snuffing out their psychedelic lights.  Smashing entire worlds. 

The debris hurtled toward her, pinging off the hull of the pod.

There was turbulence too.  Shock-waves.  Followed by flashes of heat. 

And terrible noises, like bones cracking.  Or gates rattling.  Distant screams. 

Always muffled.  As if from a broken dream. 

 

Kara thought it was incredibly poetic—that she was surrounded by such violence.  Such madness. 

But inside, she was incredibly calm.  Certain. 

That this was all she could do.    

 

Count the seconds. 

 

116…

            ...117

 

By 118, she could no longer see the sun.  

 

Her horizon loomed ever closer.  A terrible scar tearing and ripping its way through the darkness and emitting a powerful light—light that was not soft like Rao’s gentle rays, but harsh and biting.  Painful.  It completely overpowered Kara, sapping any shred of strength that had managed to survive this long in Kara’s cells.  It wasn’t a punch, though it was still painful, because this light was not trying to push her away—it was drawing her in.  Taking hold. 

And once it had her--Kara forced the pod into a sharp loop.  Turned her back and revved the engines.  Made her anomaly work to keep her.  

 

Kara didn’t blame the stars.  

But she _was_ defiant.  Of Fate.  Of what Mon-el had said.

_You change one little thing and a thousand disasters take its place._

 

Kara only needed to change _one thing_.  _One little thing._

She was defiant, gritting her teeth as she clawed her way through the vastness of space to change _one little thing_ , just one _,_ and she didn’t know what disasters may follow.

But she did know it would be worth it—it was everything.  

_No matter what it takes._  

 

Kara swallowed thickly as the first of the warning lights flickered on at 125 seconds.   

Immediately, the pod began to creak and protest—even shake.  The barrage of debris and embers continued to slam into the pod, nearly knocking her off-course.  Kara could feel it in the malice pressing in around her.  The vastness of space trying to make itself _tight_.  Inhospitable.  The very air she was breathing seemed to tell her she was going about this the wrong way.  Begged her to give in.  Just _stop fighting_.

She was trying to force something that was in itself _impossible_.  And it was _painful_.

 

But she couldn’t let go. 

This wasn’t the end.  It was the beginning.

 

The instruments on the console began beeping, shrieking, _warning_ her that the stabilizers were draining too much power, that the ventilators were failing—

Kara was rattled.  Battered. 

Slammed into one side of the pod—

128…

      …129

—and then another as the small vehicle was pulled and pushed and _torn apart_ by forces it had never been built to withstand.  She hit her head.  Smashed her elbow through glass.  Her eyes rolled back in her skull as the pressure continued to build.  And build.  

 

Kara braced— 

 

132…

…133

 

\--and kicked on the reverse thrusters.  The jolt backward had her seeing stars and she bit down on her tongue.  A rush of blood.    

The pod picked up speed.  Tore through the last few seconds with Kara pinned to her chair.  Unable to move.  Unable to turn her head to search the light for that distinctive flash of green.  The heat alone was weakening the outer skeleton of the pod, exposing wires and shorting the circuits.  

 

Kara swallowed the blood that had filled her mouth—and at 137 seconds, slammed her fist into the console with all the strength she had left, with the last dregs of sunlight lingering in her cells—and immediately everything stopped.

The warning lights.  The shaking.  The metallic clanging.  The clicking of the radar as she approached the massive tear in the very fabric of reality at unimaginable speeds—

Even her own breathing.

Everything went still.  Incredibly, _Impossibly_ still.

 

 

The pod simply fell, end over end, into a shapeless void that sparkled like sun on glass. 

It was incredibly _gentle_ , being swallowed by the light.

 

 

And suddenly, there was no air to breathe.  Her throat seized. 

There was no horizon—but she wasn’t afraid.  She didn’t panic.  She couldn’t. 

Time was—heavy. 

 

Kara’s chest went fuzzy.

And her mind went blank.

 

Kara struggled to keep counting.  13—138?  Was it 138? 

She struggled to keep her eyes open.  To hold onto some sense of up and down—of right and wrong.  Of where she was going.

 

What was it Romeo had said?  _The fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves._

Wait—was that right?  Was that Romeo?  No—maybe Hamlet?

 

Kara didn’t—

She didn’t know who had said that.  She couldn’t remember. 

 

But whoever it was—she knew they were right.

 

Kara was vaguely aware of shadows dancing just beyond the periphery, shadows that glittered like jewels, but she couldn’t turn her head.  Time was weighing on her chest, so _heavy_ that her ribs creaked in protest.

 

“Kara, please!”  That was Alex’s voice.

Kara’s eyes fluttered open wider.  She was in constant motion, and the shapeless expanse of light streaming in through her cracked forward facing shields was blinding—but in a gentle way.  Like kryptonite dipped in honey.  Enticing.  Drawing her in deeper.       

Kara’s eyes flitted one way and then the other, up and then over—but she was simply spinning.  Falling?  She couldn’t make out more than flashes—she couldn’t see Alex anywhere.    

“Kara, please don’t do this.  I love you.  Please—please don’t.” 

 

It took Kara a moment to summon the memory from the foggy recesses of her mind, to place those words.  She knew she had heard them before, not so long ago.

 

 _And suddenly_ —

      —or maybe gradually, it was impossible to tell—

She swore she could see Alex’s hands outlined in the colors that made up the light.  Her sister was reaching for her, trying to restrain her, to pull her _back_ —back to that awful moment with the dagger and the monster—but the drive that had been in Kara’s chest then, the golden hatred that had stoked that aching chase and perfected her aim, it was—it was gone.

Her chest had been hollowed out, and only her painful heartbeat remained.  It had no color.

 

Kara’s lips compressed into a thin line and she flopped her head from side to side even as more terrifying details struggled to rise—like the feel of the rock and sand cutting into her knees and the smell of smoke.  A flash of—

 

But Kara squeezed her eyes shut before she could remember the scream. 

 

“Not—not yet.”  Kara wheezed as more blood dribbled down her chin.  It was too soon.  She had to go _deeper_.  Further.  To at least 180.     

 

She’d stopped counting only at 152.

It wasn’t enough.

Not _nearly_ enough. 

 

She forced her chest to expand—tried to suck in the thimbleful of air that the Legion ring had managed to draw from the essence of space. 

It was bitter.

 

153…

 

Kara was relieved when the nose of the pod dipped forward again—and there was a rush of wind.  It sounded like a sigh.  Or perhaps a gasp. 

And then she was spinning faster. 

 

It was as if the memory of Alex had been a net, a hook, a snare—something to hold her back. 

Something that made sense. 

The edge of reason. 

If she went back to Alex, to _that moment_ , nothing would be broken. 

 

But Kara _needed_ to break.  Into new pieces. 

So she shattered the memory.  Willingly and with great abandon.

And kept counting.    

 

153…154…

 

 _And suddenly_ she was hurtling toward impossible brightness, light that was fracturing and constricting as if to form a point—yet _still_ had no edges.  Was it a tunnel?  A slide?  A sea?  Kara couldn’t tell, couldn’t make sense of it.  The light wasn’t solid, but it seemed to undulate around her as if it had a mind of its own.  

 

155…

 

Kara could feel herself growing lighter, as if she wasn’t just losing blood through the broken and cracked places, but also pieces of herself.  Which for a moment made Kara giddy—156—because she _wanted_ to be rid of the monster that had killed Lena.

 

But she was slowly realizing, as she struggled to count and breathe and bleed and forget—that she had no control. 

 _Absolutely none_ as she fell through a door that had neither depth nor dimension. 

 

157…158…159…

 

Her chest was still fuzzy, but her mind was no longer a place—it was a poor container.  She was losing memories, they fell away—

And she didn’t even try to stop them.  

 

J’onn on the ground.  And Maggie, brave Maggie. 

All that glass.  Underfoot and in the air—

 

It was only flashes—glimpses.  162.  Never whole. 

Sometimes only shapes. 

Vague and fleeting—not even rightly remembered before they were gone, fading into the stark light.      

A stop sign. An oblong box.  An airplane.  A mountain.  165…    

 

Her memories, and those bits of herself that had been molded by them, her feelings, they fell away not like water, which was smooth and painless.  But more like sand.  Gritty.  Scratchy.  _Painful_.  Visceral.  Trying to catch her off guard—throw her off count as they clawed and ripped through her resolve, making her bleed something tender.

 

Alex’s voice, that feeling of safety it invoked—it was ripped right from her.

And Kara felt tears in her eyes—she couldn’t tell if it was her heart or her stomach that lodged in her throat, made it impossible to even try to breathe. 

And tears fell—but they did not slide down her cheek.  They went _up_.  Sliding up into her hair as she continued to fall—or fly—or simply hurl through shapeless space. 

And the faster Kara spun, the harder it was to distinguish one memory from another—to tell what had been real and what was simply nightmare leeching from her system, too big and too heavy for her to take with her.

 

She thought she saw J’onn, but he was walking away from her, leaving her behind, and when he looked over his shoulder he shouted, “ _Jahghah!”_ in Kal’s voice.

It was jarring, to see a face and hear a voice that did not align. 

 

But many of the glimpses that grated against Kara’s memory did not align. 

 

She saw Alex with a saber too long to be a dagger.  And Ruby wearing Reign’s mask.

She saw Kal on Argo, not Lois, but Lucy by his side.

She saw Winn in a prison jumpsuit, struggling to play chess with a smug looking Lillian. 

    

These visions came from _somewhere else_ —and were made of smoke.  They could not withstand the light and faded quickly, leaving only a distinctly clammy feeling—a feeling of _wrong_. 

 

Kara struggled to breathe, to take in _two_ thimblefuls of air at once, to press forward against the _weight_ on her chest—she couldn’t feel time but she knew this was too fast, _wrong_ , she was unraveling—Time was unraveling and she was terrified that she’d lost count.  That she was lost.    

 

177… _Wait_ —

 

Screams filling her ears—coming from her own throat.

Lillian’s angry eyes.  _Your friendship with my daughter was based on nothing but lies and therefore your claims on her are_ —

 _No!_   Kara thought desperately as she let that memory go—she could almost feel a chip off her shoulder falling away, _No, I’m going to change that!_  

 

Kara felt a jolt through her whole body as she remembered, and her vision cleared—that was the _one thing_ she had to change.  No more lies or carefully cut pieces.   

 

179…

 

She had loved Lena too late, but she would love her better this time.  If she could just change this _one little thing_ , she would give her everything.     _I promise_.

 

180.

The pod stuttered—to a halt. 

It seemed suspended.  Unable to complete a full spin.

 

 

Kara’s eyes flew open. 

When had she let them close?!

Kara blinked—she’d stopped breathing.  Her lungs had gone still.  Useless. 

She was full of quiet now.  Quiet and fear.  Her heart had gone silent. 

Without air, she was slow—slow and weak.

 

 _Wait._ Kara moved her lips to try to form the word, to say it without breath, to will it into this timeless space.  She had reached 180 seconds—it was time to stop now, with Lena’s face so vivid in her mind’s eye—so perfectly remembered that it was almost as if Kara was seeing her through the broken glass as the pod stood still and the lights danced. 

 

“Wait.”  Kara wheezed, leaning forward with great difficulty—leaning into the pressure against her chest. 

Even that small movement made her dizzy—seemed to take hours out of her. 

She was slow and weak—powerless to stop anything as the light shifted before her eyes—seemed to part and recede until the Lena of her mind’s eye was suddenly burned into the landscape before her.

 

Lena was alone—alone and vibrant.  Separate from the light.

 

Kara’s heart clenched, moved to tears as more details started to slip through her fingers and manifest right before her eyes, the altar, the candles—she could smell the lavender.      

 

“Wait!”  Kara begged in a voice that was too weak to take color.  “This is—this is it.  St—stop.”

The memory was no longer just introspection—it had depth.  It was _real._  

 

And Kara struggled to rise out of the fog, to stop drifting and feel time again—she stirred.  Lifted her head. 

“Pl—Please, let me—stop—"

 

Lena’s face was turned slightly away, and Kara couldn’t see her lips—but she didn’t need to.  She could _feel_ the subtle movement of Lena’s vocal chords, a gentle thrum that had the power to shift worlds and shatter realities, perhaps even tear rifts through time—Kara could feel it in the universe around her—that word that was not really a word, just an acknowledgement of trust, of _unconditional_ and reckless trust—

 

“Mmkay.” 

 

 _And suddenly_ —

      — _yes_ , suddenly—

Kara remembered her rage.  It filled her chest—gave her the strength air could not, to _move_.  To throw herself forward—to try to jolt herself out of this spiral and into the past.    

 

Kara lifted her fists again, this time with conviction, and tried to pound on the glass, on the console, on the interior wall of the pod, on anything—just to try to knock herself out of this devastating cycle.  She could see it happening as if through a dark mirror—there was the basement, and the altar where Lena had been laid to rest.  And her own shadow was hovering nearby, that awful golden gleam in her own eye.

 

“Lena!”  Kara screamed, desperation turning to panic—she couldn’t do this again.  She _couldn’t_. 

 

This was it—this was her moment. 

This was the moment she wished more than anything that she could undo.  Tear apart and rearrange. 

This was when everything had broken.

 

—and it was already slipping away—no, _she_ was slipping away. 

 

The pod was no longer spinning—but she was still _drifting_.  She was drifting right over the scene.  Losing perspective. 

She would soon lose sight of Lena and the chapel and the hero on the verge of tragedy. 

 

“Stop!  Stop it!  I need out!”  Kara roared. Kara could feel sweat starting to form on her brow, but she couldn’t spare even a single second to wipe it away.  She was using everything she had now, her fists, her elbows—she even tried banging her forehead against the glass, not caring that she came back bleeding even more profusely.

“Lena!  Lena, I’m here!  I’m right here!”

 

In her panic, she jammed her knee into the joystick and somehow, something beyond Kara sparked—some residual electricity in the wiring, some glitch in the system, some miracle she absolutely did not deserve— _something_ sparked and the pod careened out of its steady, almost rhythmical spin—

And for just a moment, everything about the room came into sharp relief—cool colors, like a double negative. 

Kara could see the mural on the wall most acutely—the sun.  And Lena, pretending to sleep on the altar, trusting—and herself, as if she'd strayed back into one of her nightmares, the dagger raised high, every muscle tense, as she prepared to do the unthinkable--

 

And _for a moment_ , Kara was sure that this was it—that she’d arrived.  That she could stop, and begin again.  Right here.   

 

 _For a moment_ she was sure that she could even hear Lena’s heartbeat—but she was getting ahead of herself. 

 

Because this wasn’t the moment of truth.  Here she could save Lena, but what about all the hurt?  All the pain?  And the lies that had gotten them here? 

This wasn’t it—this wasn’t who she wanted to be. 

 

She had to go further.  Further back.  Further in. 

 

She had to break again. 

 

_No matter what it takes._

 

 _For one moment_ , Kara was straining, trying to insert herself into the memory she wanted most to break— _but then_ she leaned into the spiral, threw herself into the destructive spin, adding her own umph to the pod's momentum as it slammed nose first into her past self with a sickening ripping sound— _and then_ everything _imploded_

 


	28. Chapter 28

Together, Kara and her past self crashed through the chapel wall. 

Her past moment and present pain collided—and the impact crumpled what was left of the pod like tinfoil, but both Kara and her monstrously naïve past self were flung from the wreckage—Together and yet apart.  Warped and bruised. 

Flung out of the nightmare and into whatever lay beyond—

Which was an odd place to be, because Kara had conceived of this journey in linear terms, thinking she would have to fight and claw and burn her way back through the worst of her experiences one by one to get to that one pivotal moment and change that _one little thing_ —but her chest had finally cracked and caved under the pressure.  And everything around her simply buckled in on itself and folded together like paper, bringing impossibilities impossibly closer.

There was no longer an order to things. 

No protocols.

 

The light became dark. 

 

She still wasn’t breathing.  Nor was she flying.  She wasn’t— _fighting_.

She was swirling.  She was so much lighter now that she’d come so far, and lost so many nightmare memories along the way—she was almost weightless.  Together she and that other version of herself that had been full of golden hatred were swirling around and around, as if they were caught in a drain, going around and around, with no end in sight.  Actually, with _nothing_ in sight—it was all darkness.  No more visions. 

 

Time seemed to have been sucked out of the void. 

She had nothing to hold onto—no handhold.  No tether. 

Nothing to measure or count.

 

She could only swirl around and around, not quite alone and not quite whole.

 

It was strange.  Every turn took a lifetime, but it was also a single, endless moment.

 

Kara, caught in that liminal space, thought again of Lena.  Wondered if she was alright. 

 

In the dark, Kara heard voices—words were coming back to her.  All the ones she thought no longer had meaning. 

Friendship.  _Zehdh._   Love.  Trust.  Always.  _Shokh_.  

Even _hero._   

 

She couldn’t feel her own blood flowing out of her numerous wounds anymore, but she could _feel_ those words soaking back into her body as easily as sunlight. 

And it _tickled_. 

 

Kara laughed. 

 

Because she realized that she didn’t need to fight the monster.  Even under all that fear and hatred and brokenness, there was something good at the core, something worth saving.  Always.  And as long as she kept it here with her—it couldn’t hurt Lena.

She’d found a way to keep her promise.  Even if it came too late.

That revelation was like a pinprick of light in the dark, well—two pinpricks. 

Two bright, beautiful green lights, like stars.  No—like Lena’s eyes. 

 

As Kara swirled around that misguided, tormented version of herself yet again, she opened her arms and pulled it close, so close that they folded seamlessly together. 

 

 _And suddenly_ ,

      —not quite _suddenly_ , perhaps it was more gradual, more like a tired blink and a yawn—

 

 _And suddenly_ , the dark rolled back like a veil.

And Kara found herself back at the start.  

 

At the very beginning.

 

Time slammed into her with the force of a hurricane and her heart kicked back into a flustered rhythm as she tripped out of the LuthorCorp elevator just as Kal was stepping in. 

Her cousin, tall and broad and unburdened by a grief Kara couldn’t remember, let alone understand, turned to look behind him as if he expected another Kara from another time to be trailing after him as she had been moments ago.    

“Kara, are you alright?”  Kal asked.

 

Kara couldn’t answer right away—she was taking large gulps of air, reaching out to steady herself and feel the surety of the wall.  She was dizzy—but somehow certain.  Warm.  Her body felt strong, grounded in time, it was her mind that was trying to adjust to the vividness of the world around her.  To the sudden barrage of life reaching her ears—phones and car horns, birds and heels on the pavement—and _so many_ heartbeats.

It should have been overwhelming, but Kara could feel her own heart beating too—pounding really.  Green and insistent. 

There was something she needed to do—something she desperately needed to say.  _Because she hadn’t said it when she should have…_      

 

“Kara?”  Kal nudged, concern tingeing his tone as he held out a hand to keep the elevator doors from closing.  “Did you forget something?”

“You go ahead.”  Kara said evenly as she took her first steady breath in what felt like a lifetime—maybe longer. 

 

She reached up a little shakily to smooth her hair back—she felt _lighter_ as if years of grief had dissipated.  And she knew in a way—they had.  She did not remember the entire journey, but she knew there had been one.  She was not the same person she had been a few hours—or had it only been moments?—ago. 

It had taken seeing the end for Kara to find the courage to start again. 

She could feel that truth in her bones—in that terrible lump still lodged in her throat and the general tattered nature of her heart.

She knew this was not her first time standing here, and yet it was new.   _She_ was new.    

Every second that passed gave her new purpose—she knew where she was.  And what she had to do.

 

It took all of her willpower not to fly headlong through those doors. 

 

But she forced her legs to move, to take her down the corridor she knew like the back of her hand, and yet--was seeing as if for the first time.  Her head swiveled left and right, the ache in her chest was now one of fondness, as she gazed upon things that had been fuzzy, but became more distinct as she passed them by, her memory easily morphed to fill in the more accurate dimensions.  And colors. 

There was the abstract painting that looked like a striped giraffe. 

And those potted palm trees that were fake but deceptively sweet smelling. 

And there, oh Rao, was Jess’s desk. 

 

Kara felt like laughing—laughing and crying. 

 

She’d lost all of this—lost it so she could cherish it even more fiercely. 

 

And that lump in her throat slowly started to shrink as that _wrong_ feeling finally faded as the future grew dim and those memories that hadn't fallen away became sharp and distinct.  There was no conflict, no reason to cling to what had been—not when she welcomed all of this.  This new truth.  A second chance. 

 

This was the beginning—the day she had met Lena. 

And now she had the chance to learn the meaning of _always_ all over again. 

 

“Oh—hold on.”  Jess’s voice came a little shrilly as she tried to get away from her desk phone.  “Wait—Miss Danvers, do you need something?” 

 

Kara allowed herself to walk faster, taking the fact that Jess was tied up doing what she did best to scurry by—it wasn’t that she hadn’t noted that ache of relief when she’d laid eyes on the secretary, it was just that there was _someone else_ Kara needed to see, the _very person_ she had come back to see, and the suspense was giving her a series of miniature heart attacks with each second that slipped by.

Time was precious.  Kara could feel that in her very bones. 

 

But she was still impatient.

 

She was practically running to escape Jess’s calls to, "Wait a moment!", racing toward the door at the end of the corridor.  Kara didn’t even give herself a moment to breathe.  To think of what disasters could have occurred in the seconds she'd wasted to get here.  If she tried to think of that, she'd crumble on the spot.  Her fear was nearly crippling as it was--but her hope was stronger. 

In this moment, it was the strongest thing about her. 

 

She pushed the doors open, her legs churning and her heart leaping—

And there she was. 

 

Lena was alive. 

 

Lena was alive.  Kara could hear her heart beating, strong and steady. 

 

Kara's eyes welled with relieved tears to see her standing there--to see her alive and well and _so, so beautiful_ as if none of those horrible things had ever happened. As if she'd never hurt her with her lies.  Never let her down.  Never—never killed her.

Kara’s entire being shivered at the thought—it was a jagged, hated thing, lodged deep in the back of her mind.  And she could not let it go.  She had to hold onto that horrible memory—had to remember what she had become so that she never, _never_ became that way again. 

She had to be stronger.  Better. 

She had to love fiercer.  And softer.

    

_I’m here, Lena.  I found you.  Can we fix it?  Will you let me fix it?_

 

Lena seemed to sense that she was no longer alone in her office and she turned away from her window, her eyebrow lifting in genuine surprise.

 

And even though Kara had only recently rediscovered the beauty of breathing in and breathing out—the sight of Lena made her forget the simplest of respiratory functions for a moment.  For _several_ dizzying, in a good way, moments.

 

 _Rao_ , Lena was so stunning.  Her hair was down.  She was wearing that black business piece with her blood red blouse and lipstick to match.  Kara’s heart ached as she stood there, speechless.  She could feel her knees go a little weak—she could have blamed the wooziness on the time travel, on the work it had taken to make it this far and the effort she’d had to put in to fuse the past and the present—and remain intact, but Kara had always had a strong stomach.    

 

This was something else.

 

What was it Winn had said—all those warped centuries ago? 

_It’ll just hit you Kara—Wapow!_

 

Winn was so much easier to understand than Shakespeare.

"Was there something else, Miss Danvers?" Lena’s voice broke into Kara’s thoughts and she wanted to laugh for joy—Lena had used a professional tone, but it was such a relief—just to hear her voice.  And _such_ a privilege. 

Kara was almost glad she couldn’t remember their last conversation from a future she never wanted to reach, glad that she could count this as the first of a new beginning—that is, if she could remember to breathe, so she would have the strength for the words.

 

Lena stepped away from the window to give Kara her full attention, though she amended her stance to be closed off and suspicious.  She did raise an eyebrow though—and _Rao_ , Kara wanted to melt.

 

Kara cleared her throat and averted her eyes, twisting her fingers together as she tried to remember what it was exactly she had resolved to say— _this_ was the moment she’d been longing for. 

Reality had buckled under the weight of her grief and landed her _here_ —at the beginning.

With the Lena who gave and gave and gave without a thought to what it cost her.  Who trusted wholeheartedly because she’d learned a long time ago that she had to put into the world what she longed to receive.  Whose cynical, tough exterior was really just armor—armor she’d crafted to protect all that was mush and soft on the inside.  And _Rao_ , Kara could feel those empty places in her chest—the moments that had been carved away to make room for what this future would bring. 

They had such a _long way_ to go. 

 

And Kara was willing to make that journey.  To do the work. 

_Whatever it takes._

 

Kara took a deep breath, giving herself a shake internally for letting her emotions get the best of her—she didn't want to frighten Lena.  Or drive her away. 

She needed to let things take their natural course. 

 

Kara pushed down her giddy nerves and tried to sound smooth, nonchalant,

 

“Actually, Miss Luthor, there is.  I—”  Kara swallowed, not really surprised that she’d gone breathless so easily.  She got the feeling she'd be going breathless around Lena quite often.  “I wanted to thank you for your transparency before.”

Lena blinked once, as if she needed a moment to reach back into her own memory—to think of what the 'not really' reporter could possibly mean, to remember those first words that had been spoken—those lingering glances,

_And who are you exactly?_

_Oh, I’m—I’m Kara Danvers._

 

And when she did, her lips quirked in amusement, enough to soften the edges of her smirk, “Oh?”

 

Kara nodded and tried not to stumble over her own eager feet as she chanced taking one step closer, “Well, yeah.  You didn’t have to give us those files, or talk so freely.  But that level of honesty, I—I feel like it should be returned in kind, so—”  

The amusement in Lena’s eyes was quickly tucked away behind one of her classic neutral expressions, and Kara could see in the way Lena gripped her forearms and set her jaw that she was bracing, _bracing_ for another quick judgement.  For Kara to shatter that fragile bloom of trust that had taken root when she'd nodded given confirmation that _yes_ , she understood what it was like to want to make a name for herself outside of her family. 

That she and Lena, there were pieces of themselves that were the same. 

That they could share.  

 

And that look of defeat--of _expecting_ to be defeated, it broke Kara's heart.

Reminded her why she was here.

 

Kara took a deep breath and tried to soften her gaze as stretched out her hand—offering everything.

Everything that had never happened, and everything that could be.

“I came back to tell you that beneath all this, I'm Supergirl. And I want to welcome you to National City."

 

There were thousands of clocks ticking in National City, but Kara preferred to use Lena’s heartbeat to keep time—she heard the exact moment it skipped, and counted those rapid beats that came after, two, three, four, five, six—

 

She held her own breath, trying to internalize the rhythm of Lena’s heart—it was maddening, waiting in the quiet while Lena took her time processing.    

Kara swore she could hear Lena thinking, the cogs turning and assumptions toppling—the young Luthor sucked in her cheeks as Kara’s words seeped in and took root—and the world around them shifted.  Trembled.  Was forever changed. 

 

Kara had counted twelve heartbeats when Lena finally took a breath, and Kara could hear the way the air caught in her throat, the way her lungs shuddered.  She was looking at Kara as she never had before—shocked, of course, but there was also something incredibly vulnerable in her expression, as if it wasn’t just the heart of Kara’s words that bewildered and surprised her, but the fact that they had been given at all, as if she couldn’t believe she had been entrusted with something so secret—as if she couldn’t believe it, but she _wanted_ to. 

Kara held her hand still and gazed steadily into Lena’s eyes, waiting.  Hoping. 

 

“You’re—” Lena finally tried to speak, but faltered, as if she did not trust her own words.  She dipped her chin, almost curling in on herself. 

“An alien.”  Kara supplied as gently as she could.  "I'm from Krypton."

There was a fierce desire in her blood to step forward, to wrap her arms around Lena—and it brought heat to her cheeks.  Because it was such a strange, _strong_ desire to have, this want to get to know Lena when she already knew, in her core, that the woman before her was someone whose imprint could never be erased from her heart.  There was an ache in her chest—not a hole, exactly, but a hollow place.  A place that was waiting to be filled with Lena. 

 

 _Be patient_ , Kara reminded herself as she swallowed and tried not to take the way Lena’s nostrils flared or the distinct fearful flash of her green eyes to heart. 

 

She knew this was a lot to take in—especially on the day they’d only just met. 

It was all new.  Raw. 

For Lena, but also for herself. 

She’d never done this before. 

 

“Here, I can show you, if that would help—” Kara offered as she retracted her hand and reached up for her collar. 

She was almost grateful when Lena took quick steps forward and grabbed her wrists with a choked, “No!” because she realized a little too late that she was wearing a dress—which would have made for a rather awkward moment of ripping and tearing to actually get to the El-Mayarah symbol on her chest.   

 

But even as she bit her lip and looked down at Lena to apologize for her rashness, Kara cherished that flush of sheepish embarrassment.  

She cherished every second with Lena, and every hue of feeling the Luthor evoked in her.  

 

Lena was breathing heavily, her heart still pounding as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, as she stared blatantly at Kara’s chest—as if she could see through the fabric.  See the symbol of her brother’s legendary rival.  And the house that was forever sworn against hers. 

Kara could feel a slight tremor in Lena’s hands where she held her wrists, but when she looked up to meet Kara’s eyes, it wasn’t fear in her countenance—at least, Kara didn’t think it was. 

 

But she didn’t get to study it any further, as at that _precise_ moment, Jess barged in—which caused Lena to jump back with a startled yelp that she covered with a cough as she reached up gracefully to brush her hair away from her eyes, effectively slipping back into her CEO stance of calm and confidence—save for the slight blush on her cheeks.

 

Kara was too dazed to react with any smoothness to the interruption—she was dazed and content.  Warm from Lena's touch.  Lulled by her heartbeat.  She hardly noticed the glare the secretary fixed on her the moment she entered the room, or the determination in her gait as she made a beeline right for her.

“I am _so sorry_ , Miss Luthor, I was on the phone confirming your 2 o’clock and she got right by me, but I can escort her out now.” 

 

“It’s alright, Jess.”  Lena rasped, doing her best to look at Jess and _not_ Kara—to look _anywhere_ , but at Kara.  She somehow made it behind her desk and shuffled some papers that didn’t need to be shuffled.  “Miss Danvers just had a few follow up questions.”

 

“Oh, right.”  Kara whispered around her sinking heart.  She felt the sting of tears rise to the corners of her eyes.  

It was _too soon_ —she didn’t want to leave Lena yet.  She hadn't--she hadn't said everything she needed to say. 

And there was some part of her that raged against the very thought of letting the woman out of her sight. 

 

“Of course.”  Jess ground out grudgingly as she shot Kara another glare, but then her face smoothed as she turned again to her boss, “I trust it went well?” 

 

Lena lifted her eyes over the report she was pretending to read, “I think so.”

 

It was cryptic. 

But Kara’s heart leapt anyway—clung to hope.   

She tried for a smile.  Pushed down the rage.  Tried to feel grateful.  Swallowed a scream. 

 

“And are you finished now?”  Jess asked, not even trying to mask her exasperation as she eyed the blonde who had breached proper office protocols and had clearly outstayed her welcome. 

 

Lena set down the report and turned her full attention to Kara—it was a simple enough gesture, but the significance wasn’t lost on Kara.  Lena was behind her desk, where she was most comfortable, but she was handing Kara the power. 

Kara took it with reverence, grim with determination to make her next words count.

 

“Yes.  Thank you for your time, Miss Luthor.  I know you must be extremely busy getting ready for your rebranding ceremony, and I appreciate you taking the time to see me—again.  If you need anything—”   

Kara stumbled to clumsy halt when Lena raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—I’m sure you have everything under control for that, I didn't mean to imply that you were unprepared or anything, I just—I meant in general.  I mean, I can remember how difficult it was for me, coming to a new plan—place.  And trying to navigate all the—anyway, I’m just saying I think you’re very brave for what you’re doing and I think we’re all very lucky that you chose to come here to National City, and I just—if you ever need someone to show you around, I can—”  

 

“Yes, I’m sure Miss Luthor appreciates the offer.”  Jess interrupted, not entirely without pity for the bumbling blonde mess as she latched onto Kara’s arm.  “If you leave your information with me, I’ll be sure to file it away.” 

 

 _And then_ Jess was dragging Kara toward the door.

And Kara let her. 

She had forgotten how easy it was to get tongue-tied around Lena.  Her eyes were so piercing.  And the way her very presence filled the room, _Rao_ , Kara's chest felt tight and she could feel a deeper blush staining her cheeks. 

She prayed to Rao she hadn’t just ruined everything.  Clearly, stringing words together was not her greatest of gifts. 

 

“Jess.”  Lena’s voice brought both the secretary and the Kryptonian to a halt. 

 

Lena waited until Jess had turned around to ask, “What time did you say the transport was set to leave?”

 

“Two.”  Jess admitted, still gripping Kara’s forearm.  She eyed her boss warily—something in the air had changed.  It wasn’t quite so heavy.  So tense.   

 

Lena nodded and pushed up from her desk.

Kara took a sharp breath.  Her heart started a tentative trot, filling her chest with a hopeful thrum.    

 

“Push it to 3, please.”  Lena requested calmly.  She gave herself a moment to gather her thoughts as she smoothed her skirt, and pretended to ignore the gasp that came from her assistant. 

 

“But Miss Luthor—”

“Please, Jess.”  Lena interrupted before Jess could protest further.  She planted herself in the middle of the room and kept her eyes on her secretary until the loyal woman caved and released Miss Danvers’s arm and strode from the room—not without casting Lena several questioning glances over her shoulder.   

 

Kara stayed where she was.  Listened to Lena’s heartbeat.  Counted her many blessings.  

 

Only after Jess had disappeared around the corner did Lena allow herself to look at at her guest in pastel pink.  There was something about the woman—this self-professed Supergirl, that intrigued Lena—maybe it was the smile.  It was soft.  Gentle.  Hopeful even. 

Adding a tint of sincerity to even the most absurd of her words-- _I think you're very brave._

But it was more than the charm of her words. 

That smile she gave was the same smile Kara Danvers had given her not an hour ago when she had walked into her office for the first time—it was the smile that had drawn out musings from Lena on her brother and her upbringing and things far too personal to share with a complete stranger, but _that_ was the heart of it—the way Kara Danvers smiled at her, it was as if she _knew_ Lena.  As if she understood her, all the way down to those dark, secret places in her core. 

As if some part of her was shared with this other and it—it gave Lena pause. 

She wasn’t—accustomed to being heard and accepted like that. 

Not by anyone. 

 

Especially not by— _Supergirl_.    

 

Lena struggled to keep her expression neutral as she tried to find it—tried to _see_ the alien in the woman standing before her.  Tried to see the invulnerability in the fingers that reached up to fiddle with her glasses.  The constellations from the far reaches of the galaxy in her blue eyes.    

 

Lena took a shuddering breath. 

“I have a few hours before my next appointment.”  Lena said slowly.  Not because she didn’t trust the words, or her own voice, but because she had the strange desire to make the moment last just a little longer.  As if it held some cosmic significance that was yet to be revealed. 

“Do you know of any place in this city where I could get a decent lunch?”   

 

Lena was relieved when the moment didn’t break—when that smile she’d been basking in only grew brighter.  When Kara Danvers, the Maid of Might and tag-along welcome wagon, offered her hand for the second time in the span of 360 heartbeats. 

 

“I can think of at least a dozen.  I could show you, if you want.”

 

And Lena knew she couldn't let her guard down, not completely.  

Not yet.  

 

But she accepted the hand that could reduce mountains to rubble, clasped it and gave a slight shake. 

And then she offered her own hesitant, but willing smile.  


End file.
